“Don’t get excited.”
Samuel smiled.
“We’re looking at regional clusters too.”
Avery looked toward him.
“What does that mean?”
“If multiple farms can document compatible practices, aggregation becomes easier.”
Frank’s attention sharpened.
“Meaning?”
“One farm might not supply enough.”
“Ten can.”
Silence.
The idea entered slowly.
Not Avery beating the neighbors.
Avery becoming the reason the neighbors could enter a market together.
She looked around.
Frank.
Rachel.
The Maddox brothers.
Other orchardists.
People who had mocked chickens.
People who had debts too.
Fuel bills.
Weather losses.
Families.
Pride.
Samuel said:
“We’re not asking everybody to use chickens.”
“That would be silly.”
Ramirez, standing nearby, said:
“Thank you.”
Samuel continued:
“We’re interested in measurable waste reduction, documented practices, traceability, and regional supply.”
Avery looked toward her notebook.
It had started as defense.
Proof to herself.
Proof to the bank.
Now it looked like infrastructure.
Information was infrastructure.
Nobody had taught her that.
Her father’s notebooks had mostly recorded spray dates and harvest bins.
Useful.
Avery had expanded the idea into whole-farm economics.
The thing farmers hated doing became the thing buyers wanted most.
Frank handed the notebook back.
“Don’t lose that.”
Avery smiled.
“You offering advice now?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The field day ended after dark.
Trucks left one by one.
Mud remained churned near the shed.
Avery was exhausted.
Earl helped fold chairs.
“What’re you thinking?”
“That I hate public speaking.”
“Besides that.”
Avery looked toward the orchard.
“Cluster.”
Earl nodded.
“Frank too?”
“Maybe.”
“He’ll be unbearable.”
“He already is.”
“True.”
Avery held Samuel’s folder.
“This could be nothing.”
“Yes.”
“It could fail.”
“Yes.”
“Bank still owns half my soul.”
“More than half.”
She glared.
He smiled.
Then Avery looked toward the chicken shelter.
“I thought saving the farm meant proving everybody wrong.”
Earl loaded a table into the shed.
“That sounds like something twenty-two-year-olds think.”
“I’m twenty-three now.”
“Ancient.”
She laughed.
Then grew serious.
“What if the real opportunity is bigger than Cedar Hollow?”
Earl shrugged.
“Then don’t ruin it by trying to own all of it.”
Avery looked at him.
“That sounded wise.”
“I’m old.”
“Different.”
He threw a rag at her.
Spring arrived early.
Then punished everyone with a late frost.
Orchardists lit frost fans.
Burned fuel.
Watched thermometers.
Prayed.
Avery lost some blossoms in low areas.
Frank lost more.
The poultry could not help.
That was important too.
Every tool had limits.
Avery wrote that in her notes.
CHICKENS DO NOT FIX FROST.
Earl saw.
“Groundbreaking.”
She left it.
Midwest Fresh sent auditors.