Read the old maps.
Then stared at the Farm Father.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
The boy nearly jumped.
“What is it?”
“Could be an old spring box head.”
“Artesian?”
“Possibly.”
The contractor tapped the iron lid with a hammer.
A hollow ringing sound traveled through the water.
He smiled.
“Definitely not solid ground under that.”
The Farm Boy looked toward his father.
The father remained cautious.
“How much pressure?”
“No idea.”
“Dangerous?”
“Could be.”
The boy frowned.
The contractor saw.
“That doesn’t mean don’t open it.”
The boy brightened.
“It means don’t open it stupidly.”
The Farm Boy looked at his father.
The father smiled.
“You two are going to get along.”
The contractor walked the bank.
He found an old depression running west.
A former overflow channel.
Then another.
He measured elevation.
“Your grandfather didn’t build the pond randomly.”
“What do you mean?”
“He used the natural low point around the spring.”
The Farm Boy pointed at the shrinking water.
“Then why is it drying?”
The contractor looked toward the plate.
“If the cap used to leak slowly and then got sealed tighter by silt, that could explain it.”
The father frowned.
“After seventy years?”
“Rust moves.”
“Sediment moves.”
“Wooden packing swells.”
“Ground shifts.”
“Old systems change.”
He looked at the boy.
“Sometimes something works for decades because it’s failing slowly.”
The Farm Boy liked that sentence.
It sounded like something his grandfather would have said.
The contractor recommended building a temporary discharge trench before disturbing the cap.
If pressure proved high, water needed somewhere safe to go.
The Farm Father agreed.
The boy asked:
“When?”
“Saturday.”
Four days.
The boy groaned.
By Saturday morning, half the road seemed to know.
The three mocking farmers arrived before eight.
One brought coffee.
Another brought binoculars, which everyone mocked him for.
The Farm Boy wore his proper work clothes.
Brown canvas overalls.
Tan shirt.
Old seed-company cap.
Gloves.
His father had tied a safety rope around his waist.
The old rope from the spring cap had been connected to a chain and pulley anchored to the tractor.
A controlled pull.
Nobody was going to stand directly over the lid.
The temporary trench ran from the pond toward a low grassed area away from buildings.
The retired contractor stood near the bank.
The Farm Father operated the tractor.
The Farm Boy was supposed to watch.
That lasted two minutes.
“I found it.”
The father looked at him.
“Yes.”
“I should pull.”
“No.”
The boy folded his arms.
The contractor laughed.