“All right.”
The second farmer muttered something.
Clara did not hear it.
A county pickup turned into the lane.
Dust lifted behind it.
Earl looked over his shoulder.
The agricultural agent stepped out carrying a clipboard and a metal infiltration ring.
The second farmer grinned.
“Well, there you go.”
Earl’s mood immediately improved.
“Maybe somebody finally complained enough.”
Clara said nothing.
The county agent closed his door.
He walked toward them.
“Morning.”
Earl nodded.
“Morning.”
The agent looked at Clara.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
Earl frowned.
“For what?”
The agent held up the metal ring.
“Follow-up measurements.”
Clara walked toward an orange flag.
The agent followed.
After a moment, Earl and the other farmer came too.
Clara pressed the metal ring into the treated strip.
The agent poured a measured quantity of water inside.
Everyone watched.
The water sank.
Not instantly.
Not dramatically.
But steadily.
The agent checked his watch.
Then they moved six feet to the untreated control strip.
Same ring.
Same amount of water.
The water sat on top.
The agent checked again.
Earl stopped smiling.
“How much difference?”
The agent wrote something down.
“Enough to measure.”
“That doesn’t mean anything yet.”
“No,” the agent said. “It means exactly what it means.”
Earl crossed his arms.
“And what’s that?”
The agent looked toward the treated strip.
“That this ground is already taking water faster than the control.”
Clara did not smile.
She wanted to.
Instead, she wrote the time in her notebook.
Earl stared at her.
Clara looked up.
“Still think I’m ruining it?”
He gave a short laugh.
“Ask me in August.”
Then he turned and walked toward his trailer.
Clara watched him leave.
The county agent crouched beside the treated soil.
He pushed two fingers beneath the straw.
“Cooler.”
Clara nodded.
“Three degrees yesterday afternoon.”
“You measuring temperature too?”
“Morning and four o’clock.”
He looked at her.
“You sleep?”
“Sometimes.”
He smiled.
Then his expression became more serious.
“You know this could still fail.”
“Yes.”
“You could get insects. Disease pressure. Nitrogen immobilization. Anaerobic spots if you lay material too heavy.”
“I know.”
“You could create problems you don’t have now.”
“I know.”
He stood.
“I’m not trying to discourage you.”
“I know.”
The agent looked across the eighteen acres.
“What happens if it works?”
Clara followed his gaze.
She had not allowed herself to answer that question.
Not fully.
Hope was expensive.
It made failure harder.
So she had concentrated on numbers.
Depth.
Temperature.
Water infiltration.
Soil structure.
Moisture.