The next problem was not the price of feed but the habit of using it poorly. Delaney had been scattering pellets wherever fish broke the surface, assuming a vigorous response meant a healthy appetite. Denny's name had not entered her life yet, so she learned by observation, moving slowly along the bank and comparing measured feed with what actually disappeared. Fish that had appeared hungry in one area sometimes left uneaten pellets below a shaded bank; she had been feeding the wrong places at the wrong times and interpreting movement as proof of efficiency.
She installed simple feed markers, kept the feeding intervals consistent, and learned to stop when water conditions made feeding unwise. Her notebook expanded from costs and repairs into a daily record of temperature, oxygen, fish behavior, equipment performance, feed offered, feed left, rainfall, and anything else she could observe reliably. Some pages contained nothing dramatic. Those became her favorites because they represented days when a problem had been prevented instead of survived.
At the end of October, Earl wandered down the lane while she was sampling the larger catfish. He watched one thrash in the holding net and raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'll be. You've actually got something in there."
Delaney tried not to look pleased. "Some of them are getting there. Most still need time." Earl leaned closer, as though the fish might vanish if he looked directly at them.
"Could you spare four for Saturday? My brother's coming over and he doesn't believe you have any live ones." Delaney reminded him that she was not yet operating as a full seafood business and was still sorting out approved harvesting and sales requirements. Earl shrugged. "I can pay for them like any other neighbor when you're ready. Or you can tell me to come back next month."
She contacted the county office to confirm the rules for direct sales, then arranged a small legal sale of live-harvested fish once her registration and handling setup were in order. The next week she selected four marketable catfish from the fastest-growing group, weighed them, recorded the lot, and sold them to Earl for cash. He asked her how to prepare them, and she ended up demonstrating the basic cleaning of a fish at his outdoor preparation sink while Earl's brother stood nearby pretending not to be impressed.
It was not a glamorous transaction. The money barely covered what she had spent on fuel that week. But when she went home she placed the receipt beside her grandfather's note and sat for a long time looking at it. Somebody had paid her for a product that had not existed when she inherited the land.
Earl came back the following Thursday. "My brother says you're charging too little," he announced. "Then your brother is welcome to pay more," she replied. Earl produced a folded list of three names.
"Don't get clever with me. These people asked whether you had any more. I said I'd find out."
The names became her first small set of customers. A retired teacher wanted two fish for a family gathering. A man who repaired tractors wanted a few at the end of the month. A woman named Mavis Clark asked whether Delaney could provide fresh whole fish regularly for the Friday specials at her diner in Bell Creek. Delaney said no to the regular schedule, then asked Mavis how much notice she would need if the fish became available.