Nothing truly lost.
Still sad.
Sadness did not need catastrophe to justify itself.
The older farmer’s health began declining near her twenty-ninth year.
He stopped farming actively.
Rented his fields.
Sold cattle.
Kept showing up at the orchard.
One morning, the young woman found him pruning.
She marched toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“Improving your tree.”
“You are seventy-two.”
“Tree doesn't care.”
“You're standing on a ladder.”
“So?”
“Get down.”
He continued cutting.
She took the ladder.
He glared.
“You can't confiscate my ladder.”
“It's my orchard.”
“It's my ladder.”
“Then take your ladder home.”
Visitors watched the argument from a distance.
Her brother recorded it.
She threatened him later.
The older farmer finally climbed down.
He looked toward her.
“You've become bossy.”
“You taught me.”
“I regret everything.”
She smiled.
Several months later, he received a diagnosis he tried hiding.
Cancer.
He mentioned it casually while they repaired fence.
The young woman stopped working.
“What?”
“Doctor says treatment.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“And you were going to tell me while fixing goat wire?”
“Seemed efficient.”
She stared.
He looked uncomfortable.
“Don't do the face.”
“What face?”
“The crying face.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You're about to.”
She put down the pliers.
He sighed.
“Sit.”
They sat beneath the first tree.
The orchard had changed dramatically.
Open grass lanes.
Restored stone terraces.
Young replacement trees.
Protective fencing.
Educational signs.
Goats working a distant block.
The old farmer looked around.
“I really was wrong.”
The young woman smiled through wet eyes.
“You've said that before.”
“No.”
“About more than price.”
She waited.
“I thought land had to explain itself immediately.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
He gestured.
“If I couldn't graze it, plant it, cut timber, or build on it, I called it bad.”
“Your place made no sense.”
“So I called it worthless.”
He looked at the old trees.
“That was lazy.”
The woman became quiet.
He continued.
“You didn't know what it was either.”
“No.”
“That was the difference.”
“You didn't fill in the blank as quickly.”
She looked toward him.
“You're making me sound wiser than I was.”
“You bought fifty acres for three dollars.”
“Fair point.”
They laughed.
He touched the old bark.
“You know what I think your real talent is?”
“What?”
“Waiting one more minute before deciding.”
She thought about that.
The orchard existed because goats stopped.
She noticed.
Then looked.
One more minute.
One more cut.
One more question.
The older farmer died the following spring.
The young woman was beside his family.
After the funeral, his daughter gave her the tan farm cap.
“He wanted you to have this.”
The woman laughed through tears.
“Why?”
“Probably so he could keep annoying you.”