But she also knew the work required time, equipment, maintenance, and supplies.
She took a breath.
"For this first batch, nothing. We're still learning what the machine can do."
Ruthie shook her head.
"No. You've worked all morning."
Hazel smiled.
"Then bring me some of your pickles when you make them."
Ruthie laughed.
"Done."
They shook hands.
But after the woman left, Pearl approached.
She looked toward the notebook.
"Hazel."
Her granddaughter turned.
"Yes?"
"You can't give away every hour of work."
Hazel sighed.
"I know."
Pearl smiled gently.
"Helping people is good. So is making sure you can afford to keep helping."
Hazel looked toward the machine.
Then nodded.
"I'll figure out a fair price."
Pearl glanced toward the old chest freezer.
For a moment, her expression became thoughtful.
Then she said, "Maybe there are other ways to make this work."
Hazel looked up.
"Like what?"
Pearl smiled faintly.
"Let's see how the harvest goes."
Again, she avoided giving a complete answer.
And again, Hazel noticed.
Within ten days, people began arriving with peas.
Not dozens of people.
A handful.
But enough to change the routine at the packing shed.
A retired schoolteacher brought several baskets from her garden.
A neighbor arrived with pods from a small leased field.
Two brothers who grew peas for family use asked whether Hazel could help them process a portion of the crop before a predicted stretch of hot weather.
Hazel began scheduling the work.
She created intake cards showing the owner, crop condition, batch quantity, and expected return time. She cleaned and inspected the equipment between batches as appropriate and made sure everyone understood that the sheller did not replace the need for proper sorting, washing, food preparation, and safe preservation.
Some people wanted only shelling.
Others asked questions about freezing.
Pearl was happy to explain the preservation process, but she became firm whenever anyone suggested shortcuts.
"Freezing food isn't the same thing as throwing it into a cold box," she told one impatient neighbor. "Do it properly, or you're only saving yourself trouble for later."
Hazel laughed.
She'd heard that lecture since childhood.
Now she understood why it mattered.
By late August, the packing shed had become an informal gathering place.
People exchanged recipes.
Discussed weather.
Shared garden problems.
And occasionally brought baked goods as thanks for help.
The shelling fees were modest.
Enough to cover operating costs and begin setting aside a small amount for repairs.
Hazel wasn't getting rich.