“You do not alter the draw without me.”
“Okay.”
“You do not dig where any buried line might run.”
“Okay.”
“You do not use farm equipment without me.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t skip chores.”
“I won’t.”
“And if it damages the field?”
“I stop.”
Harlan nodded.
“Then test it.”
Della hugged him so abruptly that his hat almost fell off.
The following Saturday, father and daughter started digging.
Harlan did not take over.
That mattered.
He could have built the entire system in a day with the tractor, loader, tools, and experience.
Instead, he asked Della where things went.
When she did not know, he waited.
When she chose badly, he sometimes let her discover why.
The first major mistake came before any water moved.
Della positioned the tanks on what looked like firm ground beside the draw.
Harlan asked:
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
They filled one tank halfway.
The rear edge sank nearly two inches.
Della stared.
Harlan said nothing.
She drained it.
Removed the tank.
Dug out the area.
Compacted gravel.
Placed old concrete pavers.
Leveled them.
Tried again.
Stable.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“I did.”
“When?”
“I asked if you were sure.”
“That isn’t telling.”
“It’s better.”
Della glared at him.
Harlan smiled.
The first pipe run looked terrible.
Different diameters.
Different ages.
Silver aluminum.
White PVC.
Black polyethylene.
Several couplings required improvised adapters.
Della spent a week cleaning connections.
She cut bad ends square.
Replaced gaskets.
Used clamps.
Built a screened inlet with an old fertilizer strainer thoroughly cleaned and repurposed.
June watched the project expand.
One evening she told Harlan:
“You realize you’re encouraging this.”
“Yes.”
“If it fails?”
“Then it fails.”
“She’s going to be crushed.”
“Maybe.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it does.”
He looked toward the field.
“But I’d rather she learn a failed system than learn not to build one.”
June did not answer.
The next morning, she brought Della lemonade.
Wren, Della’s seven-year-old sister, became unofficial tool assistant.
That title mostly meant handing Della the wrong wrench.
“Half-inch.”
Wren produced pliers.
“No.”
“This?”
“Socket.”
Wren held up a screwdriver.
Della sighed.
Cass watched from the shade.
“You know it would be faster if you labeled them.”
“It would be faster if she learned them.”
Wren stuck out her tongue at him.
The first test happened on June 28.
There had been rain the previous evening.
The tanks held nearly nine hundred gallons combined.
Della connected the main line.
Opened the valve.
Water moved.
For three seconds, she thought everything had worked.
Then the first coupling leaked.
A thin spray.
Then another.
Then a third.
Within twenty seconds, three joints were leaking badly enough that Della shut the valve.
Cass laughed from the fence.
“Great irrigation system.”
“Go away.”
“It’s irrigating the grass.”
“Cass.”
“I’m just saying, grass looks happy.”