Vance whistled low. “Ambitious. Will that fit in the budget?”
“My father promised extra funding for the educational elements,” Ivy assured him. “He believes, as I do, that understanding leads to protection. People protect what they love, and they love what they understand.”
“Your excitement is catching,” Vance said with real admiration. “The workers feel it too. Everyone wants to see this succeed.”
Ivy beamed at the compliment. “That means a lot. This center isn’t just about displays and information. It’s about creating a connection between people and this mountain. If visitors leave feeling like caretakers rather than just tourists, we’ll have succeeded.”
They continued through the structure, with Ivy describing hands-on activities, local wildlife exhibits, and conservation workshops. Their tour led them to the northern edge of the construction site. Ivy frowned suddenly, her excited talk stopping mid-sentence.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, walking to the boundary. “These survey markers have been moved.”
Vance followed her gaze to the line of stakes topped with bright orange flags. Several had clearly been pulled up and put back, creating an uneven boundary line.
“You’re right,” he confirmed, kneeling to look at one of the stakes. “These weren’t like this yesterday.”
Ivy straightened, looking at the entire boundary with growing worry. “But why?”
Her brightness dimmed for a moment as she thought about what this meant. Someone actively opposed their work enough to trespass and mess with their site. The thought that anyone would try to undermine her project troubled her deeply.
“Should we report this?” she asked.
Vance hesitated. “To who? Local sheriff will just file a report. By the time anyone investigates, we’ll have fixed it and moved on.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Ivy agreed reluctantly. “But we should document it at least.”
“Already on it,” Vance assured her, using his phone to photograph the disturbed markers. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before on projects near protected land. It’s usually just a scare tactic.”
“Still, it’s worrying,” Ivy said, making her own records with her tablet. “This center is meant to help the community, not harm it.”
Their talk was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle approaching. A weathered pickup truck with faded green paintpulled into the clearing. The door opened to reveal a young woman with dark hair pulled into a tight braid, her expression just as tight as she looked over the construction site. She wore hiking boots, cargo pants, and a t-shirt with “Protect Fate Mountain” printed across the front.
“That’s Maya Wilson,” Vance muttered to Ivy. “Local environmental activist. She’s been watching the site from the trees for days.”
Ivy squared her shoulders and put on her most welcoming smile as Maya approached, a stack of papers clutched in one hand.
“Good morning,” Ivy called. “I’m Dr. Ivy Bright from the institute. Can I help you with something?”
Maya stopped a few feet away, her posture stiff with barely hidden anger. “I’m here to help you understand what you’re destroying.”
Ivy kept her pleasant expression despite the confrontational opening. “I’d be happy to talk about the project with you. We’ve taken many steps to minimize environmental impact.”
“Any development in this forest is destructive,” Maya countered, pushing a flyer toward Ivy. “This land should remain untouched.”
Ivy accepted the paper, quickly reading the dramatic language in bold text.
“I understand your concern,” Ivy said carefully. “But this nature center is actually dedicated to preservation. We’re building on previously disturbed land to minimize new impact.”
Maya scoffed. “You can’t teach people to value nature by cutting down trees to build classrooms.”
“Actually, we preserved all old-growth trees on the property,” Ivy explained, pointing to the large oaks and pines still standing within and around the construction zone. “Our design worked around existing natural features. The lumber we’re using comes from sustainable sources, and we’re installing solar panels and rainwater collection systems.”
Maya seemed momentarily thrown but quickly recovered. “What about the wildlife corridor? Animals can’t just change their migration patterns because humans decided to build here.”
Ivy nodded, appreciating that Maya had raised a good concern rather than just general opposition. “The wildlife corridor was a main consideration in our site selection. We’re maintaining a fifty-yard buffer zone on the north side specifically to protect animal movement patterns.”
“Fifty yards isn’t enough,” Maya insisted, though with slightly less conviction.
“The county environmental assessment determined it was sufficient for local species,” Ivy countered gently. “We consulted with wildlife biologists from three universities and the local forest service before finalizing our plans.”
