And Grandpa's old notes were valuable because he'd spent decades observing the system under different conditions.
Eli began understanding something his grandfather had tried to teach him.
The goal wasn't to force the land to produce.
It was to learn what the land could support without exhausting it.
That lesson mattered when the heat became worse.
By the middle of August, several local farms had abandoned hopes of harvesting their most drought-damaged fields.
Some producers had crop insurance or other resources to soften the loss.
Others faced difficult decisions about expenses and the following year's planting.
The creek shrank farther.
Dust gathered along the roads.
And the few thunderstorms that appeared on the forecast often passed without meaningful rainfall.
Hank's farm began struggling.
His corn had been damaged.
The pasture was nearly useless.
And the well he depended on for certain operations wasn't providing the reliability he wanted.
He walked his fields every morning.
Then returned home angry.
He blamed the weather.
The cost of supplies.
The state of the market.
And sometimes the government.
But he rarely blamed the decisions he'd made himself.
Then Gus Tanner called.
“You seen the Mercer garden lately?”
Hank frowned.
“No.”
“You ought to.”
“Why?”
Gus hesitated.
“It's green.”
Hank stared toward the window.
“So?”
“Not a little green. The vines are spread halfway across that old bed.”
Hank's jaw tightened.
Gus continued.
“Roy drove by yesterday. Said the boy's got watermelons growing.”
For several seconds, Hank said nothing.
Then he laughed.
“Watermelons?”
“That's what Roy says.”
“Must be watering them from the house well.”
Gus hesitated.
“Maybe.”
Hank looked toward his own brown fields.
Then toward the distant Mercer barn.
The North Bed shouldn't have been doing that well.
Not without consistent moisture.
He remembered Daniel's old seep.
The rocks.
The channel.
And the arguments they once had over its value.
For a moment, he felt something he didn't want to acknowledge.
Regret.
Then he reached for his phone.
He called Victor Dane.
“We've got a problem.”
Victor listened without interrupting.