By day ten, thirteen.
Not all agreed with her.
Some considered the idea unrealistic.
Others worried about legal liability.
Several had invested heavily in dealer service packages and did not want to abandon them.
One farmer laughed and told her that equipment companies had too much money for any local cooperative to challenge.
Claire listened.
She took notes.
Then asked questions.
What had delayed their repairs?
How much did they spend on emergency service?
Which parts failed most often?
What equipment could be shared?
Would they contribute capital to a jointly owned workshop?
How should emergency dispatch work?
Who would be responsible if a repair failed?
The answers were complicated.
Farmers were not naturally united simply because they worked in the same industry.
They competed for land.
Negotiated against one another.
Disagreed about prices, technology, and business practices.
Some managed ten thousand acres.
Others worked fewer than five hundred.
A repair cooperative could easily become another organization where the largest members received all the attention.
Claire knew that.
She had lived through the consequences of such a system.
So she began drafting rules.
One member, one vote on cooperative governance.
Published service priorities based on safety, urgency, harvest conditions, and practical availability.
Clear charges for labor and parts.
An emergency reserve funded by members.
Independent financial oversight.
Proper insurance.
Qualified technicians.
And no promise that every repair could be performed immediately.
The goal was not to create a magical service truck that never ran late.
It was to create an organization whose members could see why decisions were made.
On the eleventh evening, Claire held a meeting in her father's old machinery shed.
Nine farmers attended.
Maya Ortiz came too.
So did Eli Navarro, a forty-one-year-old independent mechanic who operated a small truck and tractor repair shop near the county line.
Eli was broad-shouldered, quiet, and known for refusing to guess when equipment needed careful diagnosis.
He studied Claire's proposal.
Then looked up.
"This won't work if the members expect us to fix every electronic control system with a wrench and a prayer."
Claire nodded.
"I know."
"We'll need training, documentation, safety procedures, diagnostic subscriptions, and parts relationships."
"Yes."
"And money."
She almost laughed.
"Definitely."
Eli looked around the shed.
"Then maybe it could work."
Several farmers began talking at once.
Wes Halden raised one hand.
"Let her finish."
The room quieted.
Claire stood beside a folding table, wearing her usual faded overalls and plaid shirt.
Her thick dark hair was tied back.
She had slept barely four hours.
A smear of grease crossed her wrist.
She looked around at the men and women who had come.
Then took a breath.
"I'm not asking anyone to pretend this is simple."
She pointed toward the old farm ledger on the table.
"I'm asking whether we want to keep paying for equipment we're not allowed to repair when it matters most."
The room became quiet.