“Seat yourselves,” Latonya calls. “I’ll be out there in a minute with menus. Two coffees?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I yell back.
After we’re settled, Carlos looks around the patio, set up with planters full of summer-blooming perennials and colorfully striped market umbrellas. Tapping the bright red composite decking making up our picnic table, he says, “Nice place. I don’t know why I never stopped in before.”
“Fork Lick’s easy to miss.”
“How do you know about it?”
“I grew up here.”
“On a farm?”
I wince, not really wanting to get into it. “Uh, kind of.”
“How do you ‘kind of’ grow up on a farm?”
Pulling a water bottle and portable dog bowl from my messenger bag, I give Carlos the Cliff’s Notes of my tragic tale. “We lived in town, and my dad worked the family farm with my grandfather. But after my parents died, my siblings and I moved onto the farm proper.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. How old were you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I was twelve.”
Thankfully, before Carlos delves further into family history, Latonya arrives to take our orders. Once we’re alone again, Carlos clears his throat. “You know that having roots in a community makes you a more effective extension agent, right?”
Busying myself with stirring sugar into my coffee, I nod.
“Then why didn’t you request an assignment in eastern New York in the first place?”
Before I can let out a frustrated groan, Gomer noses my hand, and I remember to take a deep breath before answering. “The problem with growing up here is that everybody—including my family—sees me as the nerdy kid who may have won all the science fairs, but also never buttoned his shirt right.”
“Seems like you’ve got that problem figured out.” Carlos’ gaze tracks to my shirt front, and I run a hand up my chest to check the buttons, before I remember that I’m wearing a CCE polo.
Pushing my glasses back up my nose, I cough out a laugh as bitter as the coffee Latonya poured us. “Nobody around here’s going to listen to my advice, not when my family’s farm is failing.”
“Every farm has its challenges. Especially small ones.”
“How about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of debt?”
Carlos blanches. “That is… a challenge.”
“Even worse, they’re growing soybeans. Monoculture. Stripping the soil and sinking cash into fertilizer and pesticides year after year.”
“Did you suggest small grains or maybe hay as an alternative?”
“Yes, Carlos, I’m not an idiot,” I snap. Gomer whines, and I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. This gets me all kinds of riled up. I knew the farm was headed for trouble, even when I was in undergrad. But my grandfather wouldn’t listen to me.”
Carlos nods. “That’s tough.”
“Worse, now my older brother Ethan’s equally resistant to change.” I roll my eyes. “At least he was until his girlfriend blew back into town with her grand ideas. Now they’re growing strawberries.”
Before Carlos can say anything further, Latonya shows up with our sandwiches. We eat in silence until I can’t take it anymore. “So do you see why it’s a terrible idea for me to work here?”
Carlos wipes his mouth carefully and folds his hands on the table in front of him before meeting my gaze. “That isn’t the only reason you’re being considered for a move.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As you know, CCE likes to rotate new hires through a few different regions for the first year or so. But your supervisor out in Erie County had some frustrations with your work, and I was the only team leader interested in mentoring you.”
“Are you serious?” Shame has my face heating. My hand instinctively finds Gomer, fingers sliding through his fur.
Carlos nods, his expression grave. “Your passion is appreciated, but your attitude is a problem. You can’t goad people into doing things differently.”
“Is this because of that sweet corn grower in Springville with Stewart’s wilt?” I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “All I told him was the truth, and he got pissed off.”
“Let me guess.” Carlos mimics my posture. “You told him we haven’t yet developed varieties resistant to the disease.”
“Exactly. Climate change is real. Things are changing fast. You have to adapt to survive.” The farmer’s angry face surfaces in my memory. “I told him about grant programs for solar farming as an alternative.”
“We’re talking about people’s entire lives, son. Their family history. You must get it.”
“Oh, I totally get stubbornness and refusal to try new things.”
“In their minds, change is a risk.”
“Not changing is a bigger risk.”
“Traditions as old as these hills can’t just be uprooted. A farmer coming to us for guidance is a great first step. We have to respect their experience.”
