Then she carried it into the barn.
Her cousin visited that afternoon.
Saw the sign leaning against the wall.
“You keeping that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I might need a business logo.”
He laughed.
She did too.
Humor helped.
The money problem did not.
By August 18, her operating account was below $8,000.
She still needed fuel.
Harvest labor.
Gin fees.
Repairs.
The old cotton picker already leaked hydraulic fluid.
The bank officer called.
Not threatening.
Concerned.
“You’re approaching the line.”
“I know.”
“Do you have a yield estimate?”
“Not reliable yet.”
“You understand we cannot extend significantly without additional collateral.”
“Yes.”
She looked through the kitchen window.
Her father’s tractor sat beside the shed.
Collateral.
Land.
Equipment.
Everything had a number when the bank needed one.
She ended the call.
Then cried for six minutes.
Timed accidentally because the oven timer went off.
She wiped her face.
Removed cornbread.
Returned to the computer.
Farmers did not stop needing spreadsheets because they were scared.
In September, boll counts began.
That was when rumors changed.
The Agricultural Specialist walked the plots with a hand counter.
Control.
Fish-carbon trial.
Compost trial.
Reduced-tillage strip.
Mixed amendment.
The treated plots had more retained bolls per plant on average.
Not double.
Not ridiculous.
Enough.
The loud Farmer appeared at the fence.
“You counting?”
The Farm Girl held up the clicker.
He walked over.
“What are you getting?”
She gave him the number.
He frowned.
“That’s high.”
“Plot average.”
“How many plants?”
She told him.
He crouched.
Pulled one boll gently.
Looked at the stem.
“You sprayed growth regulator?”
“Yes.”
“Same rate?”
“Adjusted by height.”
He nodded.
Again, a real farming conversation almost emerged.
Then one of his friends drove past and honked.
The Farmer stood.
“Still think the fish thing’s stupid.”
The Farm Girl smiled.
“You keep checking it.”
He looked annoyed.
Then laughed.
“Fair.”
September rain finally arrived.
Too much at once.
Three inches in twenty-four hours.
Fields ponded.
The Farm Girl drove through mud the following morning.
Her lowest conventional block had standing water.
The amended trial absorbed faster.
She knelt.
Pushed her fingers into soil.
Crumb structure.