They would record irrigation amounts, soil moisture at similar depths, and visible plant condition.
The plots weren't large enough to prove what would happen across an entire farm.
But they could provide useful information.
Eli wrote everything down.
Then Ms. Alvarez looked toward Grandpa's notebook.
“May I?”
He nodded.
She turned several pages.
For a while, she was quiet.
Then she frowned.
“Eli, what's this?”
He leaned closer.
She pointed toward a small drawing.
It showed the North Bed divided into sections by stone lines.
Beneath the drawing was a notation.
LOWER SEEP — LATE SUMMER FLOW.
Eli stared.
He'd noticed the words before but never understood what they meant.
Ms. Alvarez looked toward him.
“Did your grandfather ever mention a spring?”
Eli nodded slowly.
“He said there was water under the old garden.”
“Did he mean groundwater?”
“I don't know.”
She studied the page.
Then looked toward the field.
“Is there a place where the soil stays moist even when the rest is dry?”
Eli thought.
Then pointed toward the far side of the North Bed.
“Near the cottonwood stump.”
She nodded.
“Let's take a look.”
They walked to the far edge of the garden.
Eli brushed aside loose dirt.
Then lifted a small stone.
The soil underneath was dark.
Darker than the surrounding earth.
Ms. Alvarez touched it.
Then looked toward him.
“Interesting.”
Eli felt his heart begin pounding.
“Is it a spring?”
She shook her head.
“Not enough information yet. A low spot can stay moist for several reasons.”
He nodded.
Then she added, “But this is worth investigating.”
Eli stared toward the old cottonwood stump.
For years, he'd walked past it without noticing anything unusual.
Now the ground beneath it seemed to hold a question.
And the answer might be the difference between a garden that survived and one that died.
Hank Barlow didn't like seeing Ms. Alvarez at the Mercer farm.
He watched her vehicle turn off the county road and park beside the red barn.
For several minutes, he stood on his porch, staring.
Then he called Gus Tanner.