Quantity.
Shelf location.
Each physical plate received a small removable tag tied through one opening.
Same casting number.
Same shelf.
Quantity tracked on one card.
Otis approved.
“Now you have inventory instead of piles.”
Malik looked at the shelves.
“Still looks like piles.”
“That’s because you’re sixteen.”
The harder part was identifying compatibility.
Otis had old dealership catalogs.
Parts books.
Operator manuals.
Some went back to the 1940s.
Pages were yellow.
Covers torn.
Several were held together with tape.
Malik spread them across a workbench.
International Harvester.
John Deere.
Oliver.
Allis-Chalmers.
Massey-Harris.
Ford.
Smaller manufacturers that no longer existed.
Plate planters were simpler than later vacuum or finger-pickup systems, but “simple” did not mean universal.
The seed plate sat in the planter’s metering mechanism.
Its cells picked up individual seeds or controlled the number delivered.
Wrong plate, wrong seed size, wrong cell shape, or wrong speed could create skips or doubles.
Too few plants.
Too many.
Irregular spacing.
A mechanically sound planter could still perform badly because the plate did not match the seed.
Otis explained it one night using kernels poured across a workbench.
“Corn isn't corn.”
Malik looked at him.
“What?”
“Seed size.”
Otis separated large flat kernels from smaller rounds.
“Different grading.”
“Different plate cells.”
“You put the wrong seed through the wrong plate, you may still plant.”
“Just not well.”
He held up a plate.
“This little piece of iron determines whether an old machine earns its space in the shed.”
Malik looked toward his shelves.
For the first time, he understood what he might actually own.
Not nine hundred identical parts.
Hundreds of answers.
The problem was identifying the questions.
He began copying information.
Plate number 1447.
Fits certain International units.
Corn.
Another number.
Soybean plate.
Another.
Sorghum.
Another.
Unknown.
When the books did not answer, Malik asked Otis.
When Otis did not know, Malik called repair shops.
Long-distance calls cost money, so he planned them carefully.
He made lists.
Three unknown International numbers.
Two Oliver.
One strange plate marked with initials nobody recognized.
He waited until the shop was closed.
Then called.
“Bell Farm Equipment Repair.”
“This is Malik Carter in Millbrook County.”
“I’m cataloging old seed plates.”
“Do you have a parts book for…”
Some shops hung up quickly.
Some laughed.
Others became interested.
An older parts man in Indiana spent twenty minutes looking through a catalog while Malik waited.
“Found it.”
Malik gripped the phone.
“What is it?”
“Sweet corn plate.”
“Which planter?”
The man told him.
Malik wrote furiously.
“Still available?”
“Son, I haven’t seen one in twenty years.”
That phrase became valuable.
Not because every discontinued part was worth money.
Because discontinued plus still used created demand.
One afternoon Malik found a plate he had never seen before.
Its openings looked unusual.
Five long curved cells.
Heavy center.
Different hub shape.
He cleaned it twice.
Compared it with every manual.
Nothing.
He became excited.
“Mr. Bell.”
Otis was rebuilding a starter.
“What?”