The physical work took considerably more time. Tom warned me that the pond's natural spring was valuable, but not an excuse to avoid proper containment or health protocols. We developed a phased plan for separate holding areas, monitored breeding facilities, reliable aeration, and controlled movement between spaces. The county and state inspected proposed changes before work proceeded, and we installed equipment only after understanding which approvals were needed.
I had fixed generators and excavators most of my life, and some of the work felt familiar: pumps, motors, electrical panels, plumbing, access lanes, emergency backup systems. Other parts were entirely new. A water pump that ran perfectly could still be unsuitable for delicate aquatic life if it created the wrong conditions. A holding tank could look clean while its chemistry was drifting beyond safe limits. The animals were not machines, and maintenance had to account for living systems that could fail without making a convenient noise first.
Ethan spent weekends learning from Tom's field staff and the people the trust recommended. He studied feeding schedules, water tests, isolation procedures, and the relationship between stocking density and growth. He could tell me which motor would be cheapest to replace, but he also learned that the lowest purchase price was not always the lowest operating cost. Together we began building the kind of disciplined operation that neither of us had imagined when we first stood on the bank and watched Karen's accidental delivery churn the water.
There were setbacks. One shipment of equipment arrived damaged and had to be returned, delaying a containment upgrade that Tom considered essential. A spell of unusually warm weather required closer observation of the shallow-water temperatures and adjustments to the production plan. We discovered that certain original stock groups were less suitable for the products the first marketing spreadsheet had assumed, and we reduced the corresponding forecast rather than pretending every fish would become a profitable sale.
Every obstacle cost money. I had the savings to begin cautiously, but not enough to fund an unlimited experiment. We used a line of credit backed by a realistic business plan, and I insisted that our monthly reports separate capital spending from revenue. Ethan learned quickly that a business could sell a great deal and still run short of cash if the timing of expenses and payments went wrong.
"I thought fish farming meant feeding fish and selling them," he admitted one evening as we sorted invoices.
"So did I," I said. "I'm discovering it's mostly writing things down so you can prove what happened when somebody asks."
He looked at the binders filling the shelves. "Just like the old Riverstone people."
"Exactly like them. They knew the animals were only half the business. The records were the other half."
Tom helped us find our first serious prospective customers. A private lake operator wanted juvenile stock from a verified line with a documented health history. A sporting ranch was interested in premium fish that could grow well under its water conditions. Another breeder wanted to discuss approved broodstock under a licensing arrangement, provided the particular animals met the required standards. None of those conversations was a completed sale, but each showed me that buyers existed beyond the imaginary figures on our first spreadsheet.