One weekend in late October, a severe windstorm cut power to the farm for several hours. Marlene and Eli responded according to the contingency plan they had written, checked product temperatures, and arranged temporary cold storage for what required it. Nothing was lost, but the episode shook her more than she admitted. She had invested most of her savings in a business whose valuable stock depended on a narrow chain of equipment, electricity, and competent decisions.
The next week she replaced a questionable electrical connection and arranged for emergency power service if needed. It was one more bill she could not comfortably afford, and one more reason she would not pretend her future depended only on getting a bargain. Her fat might be cheaper than the fat bought by a large renderer, but she had to provide the kind of reliability a large customer expected before anyone would pay her a large customer's price.
By the end of October, the fences along her lane no longer held the impressive row of barrels that had first caught the neighbors' attention. The incoming material moved more quickly into controlled storage and then into the render room; finished pails occupied an orderly space inside, marked and counted. People passing the farm could not see the inventory growing. Only Marlene, Eli, and the numbers in their books knew how much work had been stacked behind the milk-house door.
One evening Rick telephoned to say the company was preparing a major grocery announcement. Marlene heard satisfaction in his voice and asked when the launch would occur. "Second week in March, if the buildout stays on schedule," he said. She glanced at the bank card pinned above her desk, on which March 15 was written in blue ink, and told him she hoped it went well. After they hung up, she sat for a long time looking at the two dates, close enough together to feel like a single wager.
Ironwood announced its grocery partnership on a Thursday in November, with photographs of a ribbon-cutting ceremony that had not yet happened and an artist's drawing of the future commissary. Rick bought lunch for the office staff because the company had just secured its first substantial move beyond restaurants into packaged retail products. The announcement made good business sense. Ironwood had spent years building a reputation for post oak barbecue, and the company believed customers who loved its brisket would recognize the same character in cooking tallow.
The marketing director presented a sample label on a boardroom screen. It showed a glass jar beneath the Ironwood logo, the words PIT-SMOKED BEEF TALLOW, and a promise that the product came from fat recovered from Ironwood's own smoke pits. The grocery chain had reserved shelf space in a first group of stores, and the launch calendar now carried dates for packaging artwork, retail distribution, customer education, and in-store demonstrations. Everyone around the table applauded when the presentation ended.
Rick was responsible for the part of the picture nobody had photographed. Ingredients had to reach the manufacturing partner, pails had to be filled to specification, finished lots had to pass quality checks, and delivery trucks had to arrive before the stores planned to fill their shelves. He had spreadsheets for all of it, and the spreadsheets appeared solid. Plains Rendering, a regional firm with the equipment to handle the volume, was supposed to receive the necessary fat, process it, and return sealed product that Ironwood could package under its retail label.