The first older farmer looked embarrassed.
His friend kicked the low steel pipe guard.
The metal rang sharply.
“Then explain it.”
The farm woman stared.
“Do that again and you leave.”
He looked at her.
Then at the crops.
Desperation slowly replaced anger.
“Please.”
That changed everything.
The farm woman exhaled.
She walked toward the clear inspection chamber.
“Come here.”
Both men followed.
She opened a protective cover.
Water moved through the chamber.
Dark particles swirled before separation.
“This line comes from the fish tanks.”
She pointed.
“Fish waste contains ammonia.”
“Too much ammonia kills fish.”
“Bacteria in the biofilter convert it.”
“First nitrite.”
“Then nitrate.”
“Plants use much of the nitrate.”
She pointed toward another line.
“Water passes through the beds.”
“Then back through filtration.”
“Then returns to the tanks.”
The second farmer frowned.
“So the crops drink fish waste?”
“Not exactly.”
“Close enough.”
The first farmer leaned over the chamber.
“What about dirt?”
“Most of these beds aren't traditional soil.”
“Media beds.”
“Rafts.”
“Some drip-fed substrate.”
“I still have soil plots too.”
The second farmer looked toward a row of tomatoes.
“How much water would those use normally?”
“Depends on system and conditions.”
“How much are you using?”
The farm woman walked to a clipboard.
“Measured total system consumption is running under twelve percent of my old conventional water use per pound of certain produce during this test period.”
Both men stared.
“That can't be right.”
“That's why the county installed another meter.”
As if summoned by the sentence, a white utility truck turned into the farm lane.
The county inspector stepped out.
Clipboard in hand.
The second farmer laughed bitterly.
“What did you call him for?”
“I didn't.”
The inspector approached.
He recognized the men.
“Afternoon.”
The farm woman nodded.
“You checking meter?”
“Seal.”
He examined the wellhead first.
Then the tag.
Then wrote something.
The second farmer pointed.
“What is that?”
“Verification seal.”
“Verification of what?”
The inspector looked toward the farm woman.
Then back.
“Her production well.”
The farmer walked closer.
“Is she pumping?”
“No.”
“How long?”
The inspector checked his paperwork.
“Forty-seven days.”
Silence.
The second farmer stared.
“What?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Not one gallon?”
“Through this well.”
“No.”
The first farmer looked toward the green beds.
Then the tanks.
Then the pipes.
His expression changed completely.