Additional energy where needed.
Purchased supplements had become painfully expensive.
She had spent the previous week calculating how to cut winter costs without cutting nutrition.
Now perhaps seventy tons of usable produce sat inside her fence.
Her anger changed shape.
The manager noticed.
“What?”
The woman stood.
She wiped pumpkin pulp across one glove.
“How many tons total?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Across all three trucks.”
He looked toward the vehicles.
“Seventy, maybe seventy-five.”
“Anything behind these?”
“Two more loads scheduled this afternoon.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“How much?”
“Another forty.”
She stared at him.
More than one hundred tons.
Far too much for her goats.
Even assuming substantial sorting losses.
Even assuming only modest inclusion.
Far too much.
Which meant either disaster…
Or supply.
The manager said:
“You still want them gone?”
The woman looked toward the second truck.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
She continued.
“Don’t stop the trucks.”
Now he stared.
“You just spent ten minutes threatening me.”
“I changed my mind.”
He smiled.
“Knew you would.”
The woman held up one finger.
“Not so fast.”
He stopped.
She walked toward him.
“If your company is abandoning these pumpkins here, I want documentation.”
“Documentation?”
“Every load.”
“Weight tickets.”
“Source.”
“Reason for rejection.”
“Confirmation they were rejected for processing specifications, not contamination.”
“Confirmation no recall exists.”
“And a signed release transferring ownership of all produce once unloaded.”
The manager’s expression changed.
The woman continued.
“You also document the fence damage.”
“You pay for that.”
He stared.
“Why the hell would I transfer ownership?”
She smiled.
“Because five minutes ago you told me they were my problem.”
“That was different.”
“No.”
“That was exactly the same.”
The driver of the second truck leaned farther out his window.
The manager looked toward him.
Then back.
“You’re trying to make something out of waste.”
The woman glanced toward the goats.
“Maybe.”
He laughed again.
“What?”
“You going into pumpkin pie?”
“No.”
She closed the knife.
“Feed.”
His smile widened.
“Seventy tons of pumpkin feed.”
“Lady, you’ll kill those goats before Christmas.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Which is why I’ll ask someone who knows more than you before feeding a pound.”
The driver laughed.
The manager looked back.
“Shut up.”
The driver looked away.
The farm woman continued.
“You want these unloaded?”
“Yes.”
“You want disposal paperwork?”
“Yes.”
“You want to save whatever fee you were paying?”
The manager hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then sign away the material.”
He crossed his arms.
“And if I don’t?”