She walked to the fence.
The neighboring farmer was working near his pickup.
She called out.
“Can I test your soil?”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Same lab.”
“Same depth.”
“Comparison sample.”
He smiled.
“You want to compare my corn to Chicken World?”
The Farm Woman sighed.
“Are you saying yes?”
The farmer walked closer.
“What happens when mine’s better?”
“I give you the report.”
“And when yours is worse?”
“You already own enough opportunities to laugh.”
His grin widened.
“Deal.”
The agronomist sampled both properties.
The neighboring farmer watched.
One of his friends arrived.
Then another.
Soon the three familiar men stood around the pickup.
The Farm Woman could feel the mockery building before anyone spoke.
The first farmer pointed toward the chicken field.
“If the lab says chicken manure beats commercial nitrogen, I’ll wear feathers to the elevator.”
His friends laughed.
The Farm Woman looked at him.
“I’m writing that down.”
“Go ahead.”
The agronomist did not smile.
She sealed each sample.
Labeled them only with codes.
Field A.
Field B.
Field C.
The farmers noticed.
“Which one is mine?”
The agronomist answered:
“You’ll find out when the report comes.”
The oldest farmer laughed.
“Trying to make this dramatic.”
The Farm Woman looked toward him.
“No.”
“Trying to keep you honest.”
The agronomist hid a smile.
The report took twelve days.
The Farm Woman checked her email too often.
Day ten.
Nothing.
Day eleven.
Nothing.
Day twelve at 6:14 a.m., the message arrived.
She was drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
Her father had already gone outside.
Her brother was arguing with a parts supplier on the phone.
The Farm Woman opened the attachment.
Three columns.
Field A.
Field B.
Field C.
She read once.
Then again.
She sat back.
Her brother ended the call.
“What?”
She turned the laptop.
He read.
His eyebrows rose.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He looked again.
“No.”
“Still yes.”
He whistled.
“What’s B?”
The Farm Woman smiled.
“Neighbor.”
Her brother burst out laughing.
She pointed.
“Do not.”
He kept laughing.
“I said do not.”
“He’s been mocking the chickens for four months.”
“I know.”
“And his soil—”
“I can read.”
Her brother leaned over the table.
“Organic matter lower.”
“Higher bulk density.”
“Lower respiration.”
“More available nitrate though.”
“Because he applied more nitrogen.”
The Farm Woman nodded.