I think about heirloom seeds. About genetic diversity and resilience.
"I run a seed program because seeds are promises," I say. "You plant them trusting that if you tend them right, if you give them what they need, they'll grow into something that can sustain you. Feed you. Provide for the next season."
My voice steadies.
"That's what community is. Promises we make to each other. To show up. To invest our time and sweat and care into something bigger than ourselves." I look around the room. "Some of those promises are hard. They take patience. They fail sometimes. You lose crops. You have bad seasons."
Farmer Hank's jaw tightens.
"But you don't abandon the whole field," I say quietly. "You adapt. You try new techniques. You help your neighbors when their harvests fail. You share knowledge and resources and hope."
Mrs. Shay dabs her eyes with a tissue.
"Mr. Webb's vision looks beautiful in those slides," I continue. "Neat. Professional. Efficient. But it's not ours. It's a franchise version of community. Something designed by people who won't live here. Won't stay when the profit margins shift. Won't be here in twenty years when the buildings need repair and the corporate owners decide Pine Hollow isn't worth the maintenance costs."
My hands clench.
"I've made mistakes," I say. "Recent, public, messy ones. I'm not standing here claiming to have all the answers. But I know this town. I know what we're capable of when we work together."
I think about midnight seed rescues. About Rogan improvising with broken ovens and expired supplies. About Maya coordinating volunteers and Mayor Elsie organizing meetings at dawn.
"We don't need to be saved by outside investment," I say. "We need to save ourselves. Invest in each other. Build the infrastructure that supports local businesses and keeps decision-making power here."
My voice rises.
"That's harder. Slower. Messier. It means writing grants and organizing cooperatives and having difficult conversations about money and risk and who gets supported first." I meet Webb's eyes across the room. "It means trusting that we're strong enough to build our own future instead of selling it to the highest bidder."
Silence.
Then Farmer Hank stands.
"Ivy's right," he says gruffly. "Webb's offer is tempting. But I've been farming this land for forty years. My dad farmed it before me. I sell it to Webb, what do I get? Cash and a condo. Then what?"
He looks around.
"Then I watch them tear up my fields and build parking lots. Watch them rename everything with cute branding that has nothing to do with the actual history. Watch Pine Hollow turn into every other town that sold out thinking it would solve their problems."
His voice cracks.
"I'm tired. I'm broke most months. But I'm not ready to quit. Not if there's another option."
Mrs. Shay rises next. "My restaurant barely breaks even. Webb says I could lease space in his plaza. But who controls the lease terms? Who decides if I'm profitable enough to keep?" Sheshakes her head. "I've built something here. My customers know me. Trust me. I'm not trading that for a five-year contract with an exit clause."
One by one, people stand.
Tom Kowalski. Sarah from the library. Young families. Retirees.
Not everyone. Some sit silent, still tempted by Webb's promises.
But enough.
Enough to matter.
Mayor Elsie lets the moment breathe. Then she smiles. Warm and fierce.
"Thank you, Ivy. Everyone." She glances at her notes. "This conversation is just beginning. We have options to explore. Cooperative models. Community land trusts. Alternative funding sources."
She looks directly at Webb.
