"In a field we may have to sell?"
"Yes."
Daniel stared at her. "That is backwards."
Emily opened Walter’s notebook. "Grandpa said South used to take rain better."
"So?"
"So nutrients aren't the only problem."
Daniel looked toward the window. "You think radishes fix it?"
"No."
That answer made him pause. Emily continued. "I think they might improve enough of it to help."
"How many acres?"
"About nineteen."
His eyebrows rose. "Start with two."
"I need enough area to compare."
"You need enough money left if you're wrong."
She had no response to that. Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
"How many plants?"
"About thirteen thousand if establishment is decent."
He leaned back. "Thirteen thousand vegetables we're intentionally letting freeze."
"Pretty much."
Daniel stared. Then laughed. It was the first real laugh Emily had heard from him since the stroke.
"Your grandfather would’ve called you crazy."
"I thought he'd call it backwards."
"He could do both."
Emily smiled. Then Daniel became serious. "If you do it, write everything down."
Emily looked at Walter’s notebooks. "I will."
The radishes emerged fast. Three weeks later, the South Field was the brightest green piece of ground along County Road 18. Broad leaves covered soil that usually sat bare after harvest. Some of the thick white roots eventually pushed their shoulders above the surface. From the road, they looked ridiculous.