And several applications submitted concerning groundwater management and stormwater controls.
One report referenced dewatering activities associated with the excavation.
Naomi recognized the term.
Removing groundwater from an excavation could be necessary to keep work areas dry and stable.
But the removed water had to go somewhere.
The public documents described approved discharge arrangements.
None clearly identified her private pond as a receiving area.
She looked toward the map.
The quarry lay north of the farm.
The old Crescent Branch conduit passed beneath land associated with the excavation.
And her pond sat near the southern end of that historic system.
Naomi felt the pieces beginning to align.
But she didn't yet have proof that the modern quarry was connected to the pond's behavior.
So she requested the records that could help answer that question.
Ridgeline Materials learned about her inquiries sooner than she expected.
The following Wednesday, a black pickup truck arrived at the farmhouse.
A well-dressed man stepped out.
He was in his late forties, with neatly combed gray-brown hair, expensive boots, and a confident smile.
He introduced himself as Warren Blake.
He was Ridgeline's regional operations director.
Naomi invited him to sit on the porch, but not inside the house.
He complimented the farm.
Then mentioned the pond.
"I understand you've had some concerns about water levels."
Naomi looked toward him.
"Yes."
Warren nodded sympathetically.
"Old ponds can be unpredictable."
She said nothing.
He continued.
"Especially where abandoned infrastructure is involved."
Naomi studied his face.
"How did you hear about the infrastructure?"
Warren smiled.
"Small county. People talk."
She nodded slowly.
He leaned forward.
"Look, Ms. Vance, our company has been evaluating properties in this part of the valley. We're interested in acquiring additional land for environmental management and operational flexibility."
Naomi frowned.
"Which properties?"
He gestured toward the pasture.
"Yours could be useful."
For several seconds, she stared.
Then asked directly.
"Are you offering to buy my farm?"
Warren nodded.
"We'd be willing to discuss a fair purchase."
Naomi looked toward the farmhouse.
Malik's bicycle stood beside the porch.
Zuri's flowerpots were lined along the steps.
And the barn needed another round of repairs.
She knew the farm had financial problems.
But selling it would mean uprooting her children again.
"Why this property?"
Warren smiled.
"Location."
She looked toward the pond.
"Because of the old waterworks?"