My brow furrows. and I shift my gaze to meet his. “So… what’s wrong then?”
Dad shrugs. “Everything you already found. Parts of the field hold water longer than others, and some sections have more compaction that we can’t seem to fix.”
“But that’s something wecanfix,” I say, turning to face him.
Dad sighs and leans his elbow on the workbench. “I don’t think so, bud. There’s nothing in this report that justifies planting in this field again.”
“So you’re just giving up on it?” I say, with more anger than I intended. I don’t really understand why it's bothering me so much. Even though I’ve put so much work into that field and know we can get it back. Iknowwe can.
Dad stays quiet for a moment before he shakes his head. “We don’t give up. But,” he tilts his head to catch my eye, “we also can’t keep pouring money into a field that might behave and might not. Planting there again is a gamble. And we can’t keep taking gambles.”
I sigh and let my gaze slide to the report under his arm.
I know what he’s saying. And I get it. But I just can’t seem to let this field go.
“We need to put our efforts where it counts,” Dad continues. “The years we’ve lost that yield dragged our totals way down. And now, pulling that field out of rotation will drop our output across the board. And we still have contracts to meet. The rest of the farm now has to carry that weight, so we need to tighten things up everywhere else and make sure the fields wecanrely on perform the way we expect. That field gave us early crops and strong yields when it cooperated, so losing it is going to put more pressure on the others. We need to start preparing a replacement field now so we can hopefully have it next year.”
I blow out a slow breath. “Ok.”
“Ok,” Dad echoes. Then he reaches forward to clap a hand on my knee before standing and heading for the door.
I keep my eyes on the planter as my mind wanders, thinking of everything we’ve done over the past couple years. Of what’s worked and hasn’t worked, and everything I know about farming, and about this particular field. I know exactly what section dries first, and when the tubers are going to swell toofast. I know the new irrigation helped until the timing slipped during a stretch of uneven weather, and I know which sections have compaction problems after rain.
And I know this field is different than the rest of them. It’s different than the ones that do as they’re told and perform well year after year. They’re predictable and valuable. While this one sometimes is… and sometimes isn’t. It’s angry, demands attention, and doesn’t always listen… because it’s not able to.
Because maybe it hasn’t been given the right chance yet.
I look up just as Dad reaches the garage door.
“Dad,” I call out as I stand.
He turns to face me. “Yeah?”
“Um…” I take a few steps towards him, trying to figure out exactly what it is I’m even asking. “Do you think… Can I have another year?”
His brow creases.
“With the field?” I ask. “I just… I really want to make it work. I think it just needs more…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it needs. But I really want to try. I don’t want to lose it.”
Dad’s eyes flick between mine, and I wait, knowing the answer is going to be no. It costs a lot of money to keep a field active, and if we get nothing out of it, it’s a complete waste. And why would the farm willingly dump money into a known failure?
Why would anyone put anything into a known failure?
Just as I’m about to tell him never mind, he nods.
“Ok.”
“What?” I ask with wide eyes. “Seriously?”
He chuckles. “If this report had something concrete to give us for why this field was failing, it would be a hard no.” He shrugs with a sigh. “But I also don’t want to lose that field. So maybe one more year could be worth it. Butonlyone.” He points a finger at me.
I nod quickly. “Yeah. One. Got it.”
He huffs with a half-smile and turns towards the door again.
“Oh, and,” I say, stepping forward.
He stops and slowly turns, giving me a warning look. “Take the win, Silas.”
