Hanley did the same.
They settled on three thousand common carp fingerlings for the first trial, with the understanding that Eli would sample growth, watch water quality, and thin the pond if biomass climbed faster than the system could support.
That disappointed him at first.
More fish meant more potential sales.
Then Hanley said:
“You aren't raising fish.”
“You're managing water that happens to contain fish.”
Eli wrote that down.
The fingerlings arrived May 3.
Three thousand tiny silver-brown bodies in oxygenated transport bags.
Marlene came outside.
So did Grant.
Grandpa Dale drove his golf cart down from the house.
Roy appeared fifteen minutes later while insisting he had not come for the fish.
Eli floated the sealed bags to reduce temperature shock.
Checked pond temperature.
Checked transport water.
Slowly exchanged small amounts according to the hatchery instructions.
Then released them.
For several seconds, the fish remained near shore.
Then disappeared into darker water.
Grandpa Dale squinted.
“That’s it?”
“What did you expect?”
“Trumpets.”
Roy said:
“I expected one to jump out and apologize to the soybeans.”
Eli laughed.
Then opened his notebook.
DATE: MAY 3
STOCKED: 3,000 COMMON CARP FINGERLINGS
AVG SIZE: 3.4 INCHES
WATER TEMP: 64°F
DO: 7.8 mg/L
pH: 7.4
The pond became Eli’s second school.
His first task every morning was not feeding.
Testing.
Temperature.
Dissolved oxygen.
Appearance.
Fish behavior.
Sometimes pH.
Ammonia more frequently as biomass increased.
He learned to observe before measuring.
Were fish feeding aggressively?
Any surface gasping?
Unusual swimming?
Cloudy eyes?
Damaged fins?
Foam?
Odor?
Water color?
Then he fed.
At first, very little.
Feed rates were based on estimated biomass and temperature rather than one fixed percentage all season.
That was another idea Eli had corrected after reading more.
Small fish in warm water ate differently than larger fish approaching autumn.
He sampled with a seine periodically rather than guessing.
Every sample became numbers.
Average weight.
Range.
Visible condition.
Estimated survival.
Feed per day.
Cumulative feed.
Grant began reading the notebook.
Eli noticed because pages shifted.
One evening he walked into the kitchen and found his father calculating something with a pencil.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“That's my notebook.”
“I own the kitchen.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
Grant tapped the feed column.
“Your feed cost is rising faster than you budgeted.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“They're growing faster.”
“Good or bad?”
“Both.”
Grant nodded.
“Good answer.”
June went beautifully.
Too beautifully.
That should have worried Eli.
The fish fed aggressively.
Water remained stable.
Survival looked high.
Algae gave the pond a productive green cast without becoming thick.
Eli planted native grasses around the banks to reduce erosion.
Cattails appeared on their own near one shallow corner.
Denise told him to control them before they took over.
He left some.
Removed others.
By Independence Day, several fish were already approaching half a pound.
Roy finally stopped.
He stood at the bank during evening feeding.
When pellets hit the surface, water erupted.
Roy’s expression changed.
“There are a lot.”
“Yep.”
“How many?”
“Probably twenty-eight hundred plus.”
“You can tell?”
“Estimate.”
Roy watched another swirl.
“Ugly fish.”
Eli smiled.
“You came all the way down here to insult them?”
“I was checking the fence.”
“The fence is fifty yards away.”