Noah nodded.
Olivia looked toward his notebook.
“May I?”
He handed it over.
She examined the drawings and the early soil readings.
Then asked why he'd planted garlic in late summer.
Noah hesitated.
“Because Grandpa marked six rows, and garlic was what he kept in the seed box.”
Olivia nodded.
“Garlic is usually planted later in the fall around here. The heat makes this an unusually risky time to establish it.”
“I know.”
She looked surprised.
“You do?”
He nodded.
“Mr. Cole told me. And I read about it after I planted.”
Olivia smiled.
“Then why keep going?”
Noah looked toward the rows.
“Because I thought the bulbs could help me remember exactly where Grandpa wanted me to look. I didn't expect a harvest this year.”
She considered that.
“So the planting is partly a marker.”
“Yes.”
“And partly an experiment.”
He nodded.
She smiled.
“That's a reasonable distinction. Just remember that if some bulbs fail, it doesn't necessarily mean the underlying water system is useless.”
Noah felt relieved.
For weeks, the men at the fence had treated every unusual decision as proof he was foolish.
Olivia treated the same decision as something to examine.
She didn't praise it automatically.
She asked what he expected.
What he'd measured.
And what evidence might show that his assumptions were wrong.
It reminded him of Grandpa.
They walked the garden together.
Olivia examined the soil.
She looked at the slope.
She studied the old photographs.
And she checked the area near the iron cap without disturbing the underlying structure.
Then she knelt beside the third row.
For several minutes, she worked quietly.
When she stood, her expression was thoughtful.
“This is interesting.”
Noah leaned forward.
“What is?”
“There's more moisture at depth here than in the exposed garden farther south.”
He grinned.
“Because of the spring?”
“Possibly. We need to compare readings over time and understand the drainage.”