Main line.
Valves.
Drip tape.
Catchment.
Settling barrel.
He crouched.
Touched the soil.
Then walked outside the irrigated section and touched it again.
Dry.
He looked toward Harlan.
“You let her build this?”
Harlan nodded.
“Mostly.”
Curtis looked at Della.
“How much?”
“Money?”
“Water.”
She showed him the notebook.
He read longer than she expected.
Then:
“How much did it cost?”
Della gave him the total out-of-pocket cost.
He laughed.
Not mockingly.
In disbelief.
“Less than my last sprinkler head.”
“That’s because most pipe was free.”
Curtis looked at the aluminum section he had discarded.
One of his own.
“Apparently I donated.”
“Yes.”
“Do I get dividends?”
“No.”
He laughed.
Within a week, three more farmers visited.
Then seven.
The same men who had watched Della pedal away with their discarded pipe now walked behind her while she explained friction loss.
It made Della uncomfortable.
One afternoon Wendell brought a farmer from Tennessee.
“This is Harold.”
Della looked at Wendell.
“Why?”
“He wants to see your system.”
“I’m busy.”
Harold laughed.
“I like her.”
Della showed him anyway.
She never called the system a solution to drought.
That mattered.
“It needs water somewhere,” she explained.
“If the draw stays dry, I still have to fill storage.”
“What does it replace?” Harold asked.
“Nothing completely.”
She pointed at the drip lines.
“It uses less pressure. Less water gets blown away. We can fill tanks when the pump is convenient and distribute slowly.”
“Can I do this on twenty acres?”
Della immediately shook her head.
“Not like this.”
“Why?”
“Too small.”
She pointed to the tanks.
“Storage isn’t enough. Pipe isn’t balanced for that. You’d need an engineered system.”
Harold looked impressed.
Not because she claimed too much.
Because she refused to.
By September, Clifton Barr returned officially.
This time, he brought measuring equipment.
Pressure gauges.
Flow meter.
Soil-moisture probe.
He walked the test plot with Della.
Harlan followed.
Clifton measured system uniformity.
Not perfect.
Good enough to matter.
He checked soil moisture inside and outside the irrigated blocks.
Clear difference.
He reviewed the rainfall records.
Then the water-use log.
Clifton sat on the tailgate afterward.
“I want to bring somebody next spring.”
“Who?” Della asked.
“Agricultural engineering student from Murray State.”
“Why?”
“To measure this properly.”
Della looked worried.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Clifton laughed.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because if something works, you don’t protect it by refusing scrutiny.”
Opal, listening nearby, nodded.
Della considered.
“Okay.”
Clifton looked at Harlan.
“You realize she’s eleven.”
“Every day.”
“She thinks like a researcher.”
Harlan smiled.
“She also left her shoes in the chicken yard yesterday.”
Della glared.
“Dad.”
“I’m keeping this accurate.”