“Probably different economics.”
He smiled.
“Finally someone admits it.”
That visit became another.
Another.
Soon trucks from neighboring counties appeared.
Farmers brought questions.
Some brought wives who handled books.
Some brought sons who handled cattle.
One man brought his banker.
The farm woman hated that.
The banker asked:
“Could this be scaled?”
“To what?”
“Commercial distribution.”
She laughed.
“I’m feeding cows.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She remembered him later.
Especially when the buyers began calling.
Not cattle buyers.
Feed brokers.
Transportation companies.
A regional feedlot.
A cooperative.
A livestock supplement company.
Then the distillery manager called one morning before sunrise.
“We need to talk.”
The farm woman stood in the kitchen making coffee.
“About?”
“Your customers.”
“They aren’t my customers.”
“People keep calling us saying you sent them.”
“I didn’t.”
“You told them where the product comes from.”
“It’s printed on your trucks.”
The manager sighed.
“We have more demand.”
“That sounds good.”
“Maybe.”
The farm woman heard something underneath.
“What happened?”
“A company from Wichita called.”
“What company?”
He named a large agricultural supply and feed firm.
She knew them.
Everyone did.
“They want an exclusive arrangement.”
Her hand stopped over the coffee.
“For your byproduct?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“All commercial livestock output for three years.”
The farm woman stared toward the window.
Cattle grazed beyond the yard.
“What happens to me?”
“That’s why I called.”
She put the coffee down.
“How long?”
“Nothing signed.”
“When are they coming?”
“Today.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
She looked at the clock.
5:42.
“I’ll be there at nine.”
The manager hesitated.
“They asked about you.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What about me?”
“Your results.”
“Who gave them my results?”
“Nobody here.”
“Then how do they know?”
“Farmers talk.”
Yes.
They did.
She arrived at the distillery at 8:47.
The manager met her outside.
“You look angry.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Good.”
They entered his office.
He showed her the proposal.
The agricultural company wanted exclusive purchase rights.
Large guaranteed volumes.
Pickup responsibility.
Predictable price.
For the distillery, it was attractive.
No chasing small cattle producers.
No inconsistent loading schedules.
No disposal risk.
One buyer.
One contract.
Clean.
For the farm woman, disastrous.
Her entire ration depended on access.
“What’s the price?”
she asked.
The manager told her.
Higher than she paid.
Still low enough for the large company to process and resell.
She sat back.