Punishing in dry ones.
That field was what Della watched.
The summer before, Harlan planted soybeans there.
Rain came early.
Plants established beautifully.
Then July turned hot.
Three weeks with almost nothing.
The upper field faded first.
Leaves curled.
Plants stopped gaining height.
Pods set poorly.
Harlan tried irrigating from the lower pond.
He owned a small diesel pump and enough portable pipe to reach most of the field.
But moving water uphill was expensive.
Pressure dropped across the run.
Fuel disappeared.
Connections leaked.
The overhead sprinkler threw part of the water into hot air where wind carried it away.
Harlan ran the pump at night to reduce evaporation.
Still, the cost hurt.
Della knew because she heard her parents whispering at the kitchen table.
Children hear more than adults imagine.
“How much diesel?”
June asked.
“Don’t worry.”
“Harlan.”
He gave her a number.
June went quiet.
Della sat in the hallway pretending to read.
That year’s harvest covered expenses.
Barely.
Then the next spring came dry.
By May, Calloway County had officially entered another period of below-average rainfall.
Nobody panicked.
Farmers rarely panic publicly.
They watch.
Sky.
Soil.
Creeks.
Weather reports.
Other farmers.
They make jokes about rain.
Then stop joking.
The county extension agent, Clifton Barr, visited the Pruitt farm in late May.
Clifton was fifty-four and had the calm demeanor of a man who had spent thirty years answering questions about weather he could not control.
Harlan walked him through the upper soybeans.
Plants were still young.
But soil already dried quickly between rains.
“You’ve got decent stand.”
Clifton said.
“For now.”
Harlan kicked dust.
“That’s what bothers me.”
Clifton crouched.
Scooped soil.
Rolled it between his fingers.
“If June stays dry, you’ll need supplementary water.”
“Same problem as last year.”
“Pressure?”
“And fuel.”
Della followed ten feet behind.
Nobody had invited her.
Nobody told her to leave.
She listened.
Clifton discussed several options.
Irrigate less area.
Run at night.
Use mulch in the garden.
For higher-value crops, drip could reduce water loss.
Harlan laughed.
“Soybeans aren’t tomatoes.”
“No.”
Clifton agreed.
“And I’m not telling you to install commercial drip across twenty acres.”
“That’d cost more than the beans.”
Della spoke.
“What happens to the water when pressure drops?”
Both men turned.
Harlan smiled.
“Thought you were feeding chickens.”
“I did.”
Clifton answered seriously.
“Depends where it drops.”
“If you mean in the line going uphill, lower pressure means lower flow at the far end.”
“So the water stops?”
“Not necessarily completely.”
“But delivery becomes uneven.”
“Some sections get more.”
“Some less.”
Della nodded.
“What if the water starts above the field?”
Clifton pointed toward the sky.
“Rain is very efficient that way.”
Harlan chuckled.
Della did not.
“No.”
“I mean stored water.”
Clifton looked toward the hill.
“Gravity system?”
Della shrugged.
“I guess.”
“If the source is high enough.”
He said.
“You can get pressure from elevation.”