“I think they’re reducing sanitation labor and windfall load.”
“Pests?”
“Too early.”
“Fertilizer?”
“Too early.”
He closed the folder.
“The committee will ask whether this is a distraction.”
Avery felt anger rise.
“From what?”
“Apples.”
“It’s part of the apple system.”
“To you.”
“To biology.”
Martin sighed.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
She did.
The bank wanted recognizable revenue.
Apples.
Equipment.
Land.
Things with historical spreadsheets.
Five hundred chickens inside an orchard sounded like improvisation.
Improvisation made lenders nervous.
Martin said:
“Bring me numbers they can understand.”
Avery looked at him.
“How many?”
“All of them.”
He left.
That night Avery spread every financial record across the kitchen table.
Egg revenue.
Feed.
Fuel.
Mowing hours.
Labor.
Orchard sanitation.
Bird losses.
Equipment depreciation.
Packaging.
Transportation.
She built two models.
Conventional cleanup.
Integrated poultry.
Not theoretical.
Actual costs from the previous year compared against current measured costs.
Earl entered at 8:40 carrying soup.
“You eat?”
“No.”
“That was not a question.”
He put the container down.
“What’s this?”
“Bank.”
He read one page.
“Bad?”
“Potentially.”
“How bad?”
“If they don’t renew the operating line in spring, I’m done.”
Earl looked toward her.
“You can refinance.”
“With what income?”
“Land value.”
“Then I’m farming for the bank.”
“You already are.”
Avery glared.
He sat.
“Sorry.”
She looked down.
“I don’t know if this works fast enough.”
“The chickens?”
“Everything.”
Earl remained quiet.
Avery hated pity.
Earl knew.
So he gave her something else.
“Your father almost lost the farm in 2009.”
Avery looked up.
“What?”
“He never told you?”
“No.”
Earl leaned back.
“Apple prices were bad.”
“Equipment debt.”
“He’d expanded too fast.”
“Bank wanted the north block.”
Avery stared.
“What happened?”
“He sold his truck.”
“That wouldn’t save the farm.”
“No.”
“He also leased packing capacity to three growers and started custom grading.”
Avery remembered.
The packing shed business had existed most of her childhood.
She assumed it had always been planned.
Earl smiled.
“Your father told everyone it was diversification.”
“It was panic.”
Avery almost laughed.
“He made it sound so deliberate.”
“That was Thomas.”
“Turn mistakes into strategy after surviving them.”
Avery looked at the spreadsheets.
“Did people laugh?”
“At him?”
Earl barked a laugh.
“Constantly.”