"It says the question is worth studying," Vance corrected, though gently this time.
"For me, that amounts to almost the same thing."
He gave a reluctant smile. Then he showed her the soil results. The planted edge had slightly better infiltration at the sampling points where roots were already established, but some of the difference could have come from earlier flood deposits and the fact that Clara had selected marginally higher ground. The organic matter readings varied between samples, and no responsible agent could claim that the trees had transformed the entire field in two months. Vance explained these limitations without the lecture he had delivered at their first meeting. Clara was surprised to find herself grateful for his caution.
"How long before we know what they can actually do?" she asked.
"Years, for the larger questions. A season for some of the smaller ones."
"And the bank gives me ninety days at a time."
Vance looked toward the house. "Then perhaps we should work on questions that have answers you can use sooner."
He arranged for her to speak with a Soil Conservation Service technician who had helped farmers construct grassed waterways and stabilize eroding banks after previous floods. The technician, a practical woman named Margaret Ellis, visited the following week and walked the field with her boots muddy to the knees. She praised Clara's decision to avoid the deepest current and questioned the spacing in a section where floodwater could still sweep through too quickly. She showed Clara how to mark small cross-sections of the bank and suggested placing a few erosion stakes in untreated areas to compare soil loss after the next heavy rain.
"If the trees help, show where they help," Margaret said. "Don't give people a reason to dismiss the good by claiming something bigger than you've proved."
Clara liked her immediately. Margaret spoke as though work done by an untrained nineteen-year-old could be imperfect and still deserve respect. They walked down the creek together, and Margaret explained how willow roots might eventually knit the surface of a bank while deeper flood forces continued to threaten the whole property. She also pointed out several spots where the new growth could become too dense if Clara wanted to maintain access for maintenance and inspections. By the time they returned to the porch, Clara had filled three notebook pages and stopped feeling that every new fact about the land threatened her grandmother's memory.
She repaired the old footbridge in late June so she could reach the opposite side of the drainage ditch without stepping into the water. Ben came to help after Ada told him his daughter had been carrying lumber alone. They worked in the heat, setting new boards across sound beams and replacing the railing. The task became difficult near noon when Ben cut his thumb and Clara tried to fetch a bandage while he insisted it was nothing. She wrapped it anyway, and when he watched her knot the cloth he looked suddenly as though he remembered teaching her to tie a fishing line years before.