Instead he said:
“Same amount next week?”
Isaac smiled.
“Bring twenty percent more.”
Day forty-three, the farmers’ market sold out of radishes before noon.
Day forty-six, a local newspaper ran a small story.
Not front page.
Agriculture section.
TEEN FARMER TURNS MUSHROOM INDUSTRY BYPRODUCT INTO FALL SOIL STRATEGY
Eli hated the headline.
“It makes it sound like I discovered compost.”
Karen laughed.
“You’re famous.”
“I am not.”
The article did something useful.
Phone calls increased.
Gardeners wanted material.
A school garden wanted a load.
Two horse farms asked about soil conditioning.
Eli also got ridiculous calls.
One man wanted to know if mushroom substrate would make tomatoes grow “twice as large.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“What if I use more?”
“Then you may create a worse garden.”
The man hung up.
Day fifty-one, Warren State Bank called.
Loan officer Thomas Bell wanted an update.
Eli went with his parents.
Bell was not a villain.
That disappointed Eli slightly because anger would have been easier.
He was sixty.
Careful.
The kind of banker who removed his glasses before delivering difficult sentences.
“You’ve made progress.”
Eli placed records on the desk.
Sales.
Prepaid produce boxes.
Delivery income.
Customer purchase orders.
The bank had received two partial cure payments totaling $14,000.
Still a long way from $46,800.
Bell read.
“The mushroom material.”
“Spent substrate.”
Daniel groaned.
Bell almost smiled.
“Is this reliable?”
“For now.”
“How long?”
“Until the farm finishes clearing the overflow lot. After that, material cost increases.”
“So this is temporary.”
Eli nodded.
“Yes.”
Bell looked surprised.
Most desperate borrowers wanted every good thing to sound permanent.
Eli continued.
“The hauling relationships might remain. Vegetable production remains. We’re also reducing purchased amendment costs next spring.”
Bell folded his hands.
“You have twenty-four days.”
“I know.”
“You’re still short.”
“I know.”
“What happens if you don’t reach the cure?”
Silence.
Eli looked at his parents.
Then answered:
“We sell the south parcel.”
Daniel turned toward him.
That was the first time Eli had said it.
His father said nothing.
Bell nodded.
“Good.”
Eli frowned.
“Good?”
“It means you understand the difference between a plan and denial.”
The banker leaned back.
“I cannot waive the agreement because you are nineteen and working hard.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No.”
Bell looked at him.
“That helps too.”
He returned the documents.
“Bring me everything by November 15.”
“The deadline is the seventeenth.”
“Seventeenth is Monday.”
Bell put his glasses back on.
“I would prefer not to spend my Monday deciding whether to foreclose on your family.”
Day fifty-eight.
A storm dropped almost two inches of rain.
Eli drove to the fall field expecting standing water.
The lowest section still puddled.
But the treated beds drained better.
Daniel stood beside him under an umbrella.
“You seeing this?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t get religious.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
His father poked the soil with one boot.
“We should’ve been building organic matter harder ten years ago.”
“We didn’t have money.”
“We didn’t make money.”
Eli looked at him.
Daniel shrugged.
“Difference.”
Day sixty-two brought another problem.
One batch of spent substrate tested higher in soluble salts than the earlier material.
Howard called immediately.
“Do not spread Lot 18 into those vegetable beds.”
Eli had already scheduled three loads.