I nodded.
We spent the next two hours walking through the center-pivot quarter.
I dug up corn plants and showed him the damaged root systems.
I explained the problems caused by planting wet soil.
I pointed out the weeds spreading between rows.
Then we inspected the irrigation system.
I opened Dad’s green notebook.
There it was.
A note dated 2017.
Tower five safety switch. Clean and reset.
We inflated the flat tire.
I cleaned the faulty connection.
Phil operated the controls.
The center pivot groaned.
Shuddered.
And slowly began moving.
Water fell across the struggling corn.
Phil stood silently watching.
Then he looked at me.
“You think we can save the crop?”
“Some of it.”
He nodded.
“Then let’s try.”
Afterward, we sat on the tailgate of Dad’s blue pickup.
That was where he used to settle almost every important farm decision.
Phil stared toward the house.
“I don’t want to sell everything,” he admitted.
