But the first deliveries affected her more deeply than she expected.
At one house, an elderly man became emotional when Hazel brought several packages of peas he'd grown up eating but could no longer cultivate himself.
At another, a young mother thanked her because the frozen vegetables would help stretch the family's grocery budget after her husband lost hours at work.
And at a third, a retired teacher handed Hazel a handwritten recipe she'd used for forty years, saying she hoped the family would continue making the same kind of peas long after she was gone.
Hazel drove home that evening with the recipe tucked inside her notebook.
She parked beside the farmhouse.
Then sat in the truck for several minutes.
The fields were empty now.
The garden rows had been cleared.
And frost covered the edges of the yard.
She thought about the first day she saw the broken shellers.
She had wanted to fix a machine.
That was all.
She hadn't imagined it would lead to standing on people's porches with food they'd remember from childhood.
She hadn't imagined learning about her grandmother's quiet generosity.
Or watching Rafe Slone sit beside his mother, asking what she needed instead of assuming he already knew.
And she hadn't imagined that a three-dollar purchase could become the beginning of something people in the hollow might continue long after the machines wore out.
Hazel looked toward the shed.
Then whispered, "I think I understand now."
She climbed out.
And went inside.
The first heavy snow arrived in early December.
It began during the night, covering the hills behind Pearl's farmhouse and turning the narrow county road into a winding white ribbon. By morning, the garden had disappeared beneath several inches of snow, the creek was running high with icy water, and Wy was already checking whether the road remained passable.
Hazel stood beside the kitchen window holding a mug of coffee.
Pearl sat at the table, reviewing the last of the autumn records.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then the telephone rang.
Hazel answered.
It was Ruthie Barnes.
A storm had damaged a power line farther up the hollow, and several homes had lost electricity. Ruthie wasn't certain how long service would remain interrupted. She was worried about the frozen vegetables she'd preserved, especially because the family's small freezer had been struggling for weeks.
Hazel took notes.
Then called Wy.