The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County: A Novel

25. Vegetable Stand

99 Vegetable Stand 25 Ambrose Adler smiled to himself when he thought about all the reaction he’d gotten from his recent Stony Field column chastising the Link Lake Village Board. He was hoping that somehow, in a small way, what he had written would change enough minds that the decision to open a sand mine in Increase Joseph Community Park could be overturned. But he also wondered again, should he reveal that he was really Stony Field? If he did, he knew it would trigger a tremendous amount of publicity—and he knew he would hate every minute of the attention. But it could have positive effects: the national attention just might help stop the sand mine. As he set up his vegetable stand alongside the road that trailed by his farm, he also thought about how successful his little stand had become as an increasing number of townspeople as well as tourists in the area stopped to buy fresh fruits and vegetables. Now, in early June, the strawberry crop was about ready, he had lush leaf lettuce, some of the best he’d grown in years, lots of broccoli, outstanding radishes, and in a week or so the first zucchini and green beans. People were listening to the national cry to buy locally: “See where your food is grown and try to avoid buying vegetables grown halfway around the country.” But he also knew that the tourists in the area found it interesting to visit this old bearded and stuttering vegetable farmer who had a pet raccoon and talked to it. When Ambrose had everything in order, he straightened the green faded sign that read Homegrown Vegetables. He took one last look to see that his early-crop vegetables were properly displayed, and then he sat down and opened the book he had with him, Henry David Thoreau’s 100 Vegetable Stand Walden, a book that provided a foundation for much of his writing, and a book that seemed to be more profound every time he turned to it. Ranger rested in the shade of a nearby tree. He had no more than opened the cover of the book when he saw the neighbor boy, Noah Drake, pedaling along the road on his bike. Noah was now twelve years old and he often stopped by Ambrose’s farm on his way to and from school. During the summer months, when school was out, he often pedaled over to Ambrose’s place just to talk with him and play with Ranger. Noah’s father, Lucas Drake, farmed his more-than-a-thousand acres just a half a mile west of Ambrose’s 160 acres. Noah liked Ambrose Adler. The old farmer took time to talk with Noah, something that Noah’s father seldom took time to do. Ambrose would patiently listen while Noah shared what he was doing in school and what was happening on his farm. Noah had also become great friends with Ranger. Ambrose had taught Noah how to “talk” with Ranger—at least that’s what Noah believed he was doing when he fed the little animal treats and it cocked its head to the side and held out its paws. “Hi, Ambrose,” Noah said as he rode up, climbed off his bike, and leaned it against the side of the vegetable stand. “H . . . Hi, Noah,” said Ambrose. “Got your vegetable stand up, I see.” “Y . . . yup. Want a radish?” “Sure,” said Noah as Ambrose handed him a couple of big, red, freshly pulled radishes. “Where is Ranger?” inquired Noah as he bit into a big radish. “B . . . back there,” said Ambrose as he pointed to a tree a few feet behind the vegetable stand, where Ranger was resting. Noah walked over to the tree and the little raccoon, recognizing Noah, stood up and walked toward him. “How are you, Ranger?” said Noah. “You doing okay?” The raccoon looked right at Noah and made a purring sound, its way of communicating. “Got any treats for Ranger?” asked Noah. Ambrose reached into his pocket and handed Noah a little treat, which he held in front of the little raccoon. 101 Vegetable Stand “What do you say, Ranger? Can you say ‘please’?” Noah said. The little raccoon purred more loudly and held out its paws. “Good enough,” said Noah as he handed the treat to Ranger. “W . . . what’s new?” asked Ambrose as he watched Noah...