Pedro closed his laptop. “So. What’s on your mind?”
Wes wrapped his hands around the mug, gathering his thoughts. He’d been rehearsing this conversation since yesterday, but now that he was here, the words felt stuck.
“I’m in trouble,” he said finally. “The farm. Financially.”
“Yeah. I heard.” Pedro’s gaze was warm and sympathetic.
Wes sipped his coffee. “The bank’s been working with me. Sent someone down from Atlanta to help me restructure. He thinks I need to diversify—generate income year-round instead of just seasonally.”
“Smart advice.”
“The problem is… I don’t know how. I’m a tree farmer. It’s all I’ve ever done.”
Pedro leaned back, considering. “You’ve got land, though, right?”
“Yeah. Forty acres. Using about half for the farm.”
“What’s the other half?”
“It’s just sitting there. Used to be pasture for livestock, but we haven’t used it in years.”
“You’ve got options, then. The question is, what fits your skills and your market?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Pedro set down his coffee cup, studying Wes with gentle intensity. “Can I say something that might sound a little personal?”
Wes tensed slightly. “Sure.”
“You have a gift, Wes. I’ve seen your carvings—the nativity at First Methodist, the pieces at the craft fair. They’re extraordinary.” Pedro leaned forward. “But you hide it. You treat it like a hobby instead of the talent it is.”
“It is a hobby. The farm is the business.”
“Why can’t it be both?” Pedro smiled. “I started with just landscaping. Mowing lawns, trimming hedges. But Titus told me I was an artist, that I shouldn’t hide my light under a bushel just because I was afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Pedro’s eyebrow rose, inquiring but knowing. “No?”
Wes looked away, jaw tight. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. But the world needs beauty, Wes. Especially now. And you create beauty—not just Christmas trees people will throw away in January, but art that lasts. Art that means something.” Pedro’s voice softened. “Don’t let fear or debt or obligation make you forget that part of yourself. Don’t hide your light.”
Wes swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak.
“Just think about it,” Pedro said. He picked up his coffee again. “Now, tell me about your customers. Who buys from you?”
Wes gave it some thought. “Families mostly. People cutting their own trees, hot cocoa, hayrides. Most come back every year. It’s tradition for them.”
“So you’re not only selling trees. You’re selling an experience.”
“I guess.”
“That’s good. That’s valuable.” Pedro took a bite of his bear claw, chewed thoughtfully. “What if you expanded that? Offered experiences year-round?”
“Like what?”
“Weddings. Retreats. Fall festivals with pumpkins and corn mazes. Spring events—Easter egg hunts, maybe. You’ve got the land. You’ve got the infrastructure. You’d just need to market it differently.”
