“And my contractor says nobody else around here can legally process the stuff.”
Dileia became still.
“Did they explain why?”
“What?”
“Did they identify a specific legal restriction?”
He hesitated.
Then snapped, “I've been farming longer than you've been alive.”
Dileia looked down.
For a moment, the old anger returned.
She remembered him laughing at her father.
Mocking the farm.
Calling the recycling project a garbage dump.
But she refused to let the conversation become another argument about respect.
She took a breath.
“Then you know the importance of reading a contract.”
He became silent.
She continued.
“If your current arrangement is better, keep it. I'm not asking you to break a valid agreement.”
He didn't answer.
“But if you're paying to dispose of material that somebody else can lawfully process at a lower total cost, that's worth investigating.”
The heavyset farmer gave a bitter laugh.
“You think you can teach me how to run my business?”
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
“I'm offering to let the numbers answer that question.”
He hung up.
Dileia stared at the phone.
Then laughed softly.
“Dad, that man is exhausting.”
She placed the phone on the table.
For several minutes, she considered calling him again.
Then decided against it.
She had made a professional offer.
He had refused.
There were other suppliers.
She would find them.
Two weeks later, however, she received a surprising call from the leaner farmer who usually accompanied him.
His voice was unusually cautious.
“Listen, I heard you might be collecting eggshells.”
Dileia stared.
“Yes.”
He cleared his throat.
“How much would you charge?”
She leaned back.
“Depends on the material, collection arrangements, quantities, and your existing obligations.”
He hesitated.
“What if I wanted to see your facility?”
Dileia almost laughed.
The same man who'd joked about selling chicken bones to tourists now wanted a tour.
But she remembered what her father used to say.
A person could be wrong yesterday and still make a good decision tomorrow.
So she answered professionally.
“We can schedule a visit.”
The farmer cleared his throat.
“Would you mind keeping it quiet?”
Dileia frowned.
“Why?”
“Because my friend thinks your whole operation is ridiculous.”
She smiled.
“I noticed.”
He sighed.
“Look, I can't keep paying what I'm paying to have shells hauled away.”
That caught her attention.
She asked him to explain.
His existing contract contained a variable disposal charge that had increased significantly during the previous year.
He had also been billed additional fees for transportation and handling.
He wasn't certain whether the increases were justified.
He simply knew the expense was hurting his business.
Dileia listened.