"But?" Nora asked.
"Reaching the middle before fall is another matter. Goats don't make vanished wood. They take leaves and tender stems. You'll still have canes, wire, limbs, and whatever's under all that."
She nodded. "I know."
"I'm not certain you do yet." Wade lifted his stick and pointed at the dark interior. "That ground has been hiding itself for years. I'd be surprised if all the trouble is growing above it."
He was not mocking her. Wade had removed wire from his own orchard with the sleeves of his shirts torn to ribbons, and he understood how quickly a reasonable day's work could become a veterinary bill or a broken machine. Before leaving, he told her to protect any large trunks she found. Goats could strip bark when their preferred leaves were gone, and a tree that had survived twenty years beneath vines did not deserve to be finished off by the animals that uncovered it.
Nora wrote that warning on the back of the deed envelope. She did not know then how important it would become.
The first Saturday after the transfer, she lowered the trailer gate at the edge of the road and watched fifteen goats descend into sunlight. They came down in their familiar order, older does first, younger animals pressing behind them, each pausing to examine the unfamiliar smells before moving. A copper-colored doe named Hazel stepped directly toward the blackberries. Clover followed and rose on her hind legs to reach leaves above the thorns. The rest spread along the temporary fence with the excited concentration of animals that had been given a room full of food.
Two neighbors had stopped beside a pickup across the road. Nora knew neither man well. One lived beyond the creek; the other had bought a small tract next to the county line. They watched the goats approach the briars, exchanged a glance, and laughed.
"That what you're using instead of a brush cutter?" the taller man called.
"For the part they can eat," Nora answered.
"You'd better train them to work a chainsaw, then."
The other laughed harder. Nora checked the fence charger, watched Hazel strip the leaves from a blackberry cane, and said nothing. She had learned that a joke could be answered once, but not improved by an argument. The two men drove away before she finished setting the water tub.
For three days, the goats made her feel brilliant. Every evening, the strip beside the gate looked more open. Bright green leaves vanished. Blackberry stems that had been thick with foliage stood bare and awkward, like scaffolding after the fabric came off. Nora moved water, checked the netting, and watched the herd do the work she had imagined when she signed the deed.
Tess visited after her shift on the third day. She climbed down from her car, looked toward the gate, and let out a low whistle. "That was all green on Saturday."
"It was."
"Maybe you were right."
"Don't sound so surprised."