Saturday afternoon, the family gathered at the pond.
The site no longer resembled a muddy excavation.
Grass covered the banks.
Native sedges and cattails occupied controlled sections.
A narrow wooden platform extended several feet over the water.
Solar panels supplied the aeration system with supplemental power.
The overflow was stabilized with rock.
Eli had even planted two small willows where their roots would not threaten the dam.
Roy arrived last.
He stood at the edge.
“This is different.”
Eli looked at him.
“From what?”
“The mud hole.”
“You mean the pond.”
“It was a mud hole.”
“For two weeks.”
“Still counts.”
Eli brought out a seine.
Grant helped.
So did Dale.
They worked a section of the pond slowly.
Fish flashed beneath the surface.
When Eli lifted one into the net basket, everyone went silent.
The carp was nearly two feet long.
Thick.
Healthy.
Scales catching sunlight.
Marlene stared.
“That is a real fish.”
Eli laughed.
“What did you think I was selling?”
“I don't know.”
“Smaller fish.”
Grandpa Dale reached down.
“Let me hold it.”
“You'll drop it.”
“I raised you.”
“I survived.”
Dale glared.
Eli handed it over.
The carp thrashed once.
Dale almost lost it.
Everyone laughed.
Roy did not.
He crouched beside the fish.
“How heavy?”
“Two point three pounds.”
“You know that without weighing?”
“Estimate.”
Eli placed it on the scale.
Two point twenty-eight.
Roy looked at him.
“Show-off.”
Eli returned the fish to water.
It disappeared.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Water rippled.
Aeration bubbles rose in the deeper section.
A truck passed on the county road.
Roy finally asked:
“How many are left?”
“Just over fifteen hundred from the original stocking after sales, harvest, thinning, and losses.”
“I’m starting a new batch separately this spring.”
“You keep different sizes together?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
“Why?”
“Competition.”
“Harvest control.”
“Feed management.”
Roy nodded slowly.
“And that notebook really tells you all this?”
“Notebook tells me what I actually did.”
“The fish tell me whether it worked.”
Roy looked across the pond.
“Fair.”
Denise arrived later that afternoon.
She had not been formally invited.
She said she was “in the area,” which nobody believed because her office was twenty miles away.
She walked the bank.
Checked erosion.
Inspected the spillway.
Used a probe.
“Temperature sixty-one.”
“Dissolved oxygen seven point two.”
“pH seven six.”
She looked at Eli.
“Show me the notebook.”
He handed it over.
Denise read several pages.
Then another.
Finally:
“This is better than half the interns I get from college.”
Eli smiled.
“Can I put that on a sign?”
“No.”
Roy asked:
“How much do you charge for this?”
“For what?”
“Coming out.”
“Extension service.”
“Tax-funded.”
Roy frowned.
“So I’ve been paying for advice I never use?”
Denise smiled.
“That's one interpretation.”
Roy looked offended by the concept.
Later, while everyone walked toward the house, Roy remained.
Eli was cleaning equipment when he noticed.
His uncle stood at the edge staring into the water.
Eli approached.
“What?”