“Yes.”
“Why not drop dye into the hill wells?”
“Different aquifer depth.”
“You checked?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“You need hobbies.”
“This is my hobby.”
“That’s sad.”
By early summer she had enough evidence to propose draining.
Not permanently.
Lower the pond during its naturally lowest period.
Relocate fish.
Pump remaining water into temporary storage and an irrigation basin.
Excavate sediment selectively.
Investigate the suspected source.
Then restore.
Her father stared at the plan.
“You wrote thirty pages.”
“Twenty-seven.”
“There are diagrams.”
“Yes.”
“Costs.”
“Yes.”
“Permits?”
“Checked.”
“Fish?”
“Relocation.”
“Erosion?”
“Control plan.”
“What if we find nothing?”
“We clean accumulated sediment and improve the pond.”
“What if we damage the spring?”
“We stop before touching any pressurized feature.”
“How do you know where it is?”
“Survey data.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“How much?”
She told him.
He whistled.
“No.”
She waited.
He looked again.
“How much if we rent the excavator from the neighboring farmer’s cousin?”
“Twenty percent less.”
He stared.
“You already asked.”
“Yes.”
“You’re impossible.”
Eventually he agreed to investigate only after the county water inspector reviewed the plan.
That inspector visited.
He was skeptical but interested.
The old map intrigued him.
So did recovery measurements.
He walked the pond edge.
Checked soil.
Asked about fish.
Asked about permits.
Then said:
“You probably have a spring system.”
The father smiled.
“See? System.”
The inspector continued.
“But whether there’s a constructed head beneath the pond is another question.”
The young farmer showed him the 1950s photograph.
He studied it.
“That shed could matter.”
Her father’s smile disappeared.
The inspector said:
“If you lower the pond, call me before excavation near the eastern basin.”
“Why?”
“Because old farm water structures can be unstable.”
“Stone chambers.”
“Pipes.”
“Collapsed wells.”
“Gas pockets, rarely.”
“Don’t go sticking an excavator bucket into something you don’t understand.”
She nodded.
The neighboring farmer volunteered his opinion without being asked.
“This is insane.”
They were standing beside the pond.
He looked at her father.
“You're actually letting her drain it?”
The father said:
“I’ve stopped pretending I can stop her.”
The neighbor pointed toward the water.
“Best pond in three miles.”
“It’s not going anywhere.”
“You hope.”
The young farmer said:
“We know estimated recharge.”
“You think.”
“Yes.”
“You’re risking a two-acre pond because of a newspaper ad from 1913.”
“And four months of measurements.”