Gettin' the haul in, and a nice surprise...

Chapter Thirty-Two: Diggin' Riches

Couple weeks went by in a blink, sun never moving and days blendin' together like molasses and cornmeal. The new apple trees from the co-op settled in just fine. Planted 'em in neat rows—Lu oversaw the spacing, I dug half the holes myself, and the boys filled the rest in like a well-oiled machine. The pecan trees went in behind the barn, closer to the old hives. All in all, no hiccups.

But this chapter ain't about trees. No, sir. This one’s about diggin’.

We finally hit the prime window for pulling up the tubers and legumes. The barley fields were still standin' tall and golden, but the low fields—those dark, loamy plots we seeded with space-tweaked root crops—were hummin' with promise. Lu stood beside me with her gloves already on, and the boys gathered round like a posse lookin’ to chase treasure.

"We start on the left quadrant," I said, pointing to the line of flags Lu and Quattro had set weeks ago. "Dos, Seis, Nueve—you’re on haul duty. Rest of y’all dig with me."

Digging was easier than I expected. These crops were hearty, made for thin atmosphere and odd gravity, and came up with just the right tug. Big, sweet-smelling tubers rolled out of the soil like forgotten gold. Quattro let out a whoop and held up one the size of a kettle.

"Pa! Look at this sucker!"

"That's a dinner and a half right there," I said.

We filled crate after crate with purple-veined roots, bright orange orbs with thick skin, and knobby fingerlike yams that the co-op rep had called "dig-nuts"—don’t ask me why. Lu laughed when Quattro tried to juggle three and fell face-first into the dirt.

By midday, we moved on to the legume rows. These were trickier—pods had to be picked by hand, and they had a tendency to cling stubbornly to their vines. Uno and Dos got into a contest to see who could pick the most. Lu kept score. I made sure they didn’t strip the vines clean—some needed to stay for reseeding.

The baskets overflowed with green, gold, and speckled pods. Lu started separating them into piles—dry, edible now, and long-storers. She even set some aside for canning.

"We’re gonna need more jars," she muttered.

"I'll have the boys build you some shelves first," I replied.

Toward the end of the day, I stood on the edge of the field, looking at our haul. Eight boys, one patient woman, and a half-worn man with a stubborn streak had managed to bring in a yield worthy of a real operation. That farm back on Earth never ran this smooth.

"You gonna smile or cry, Ron?" Lu asked, sidling up next to me.

"Bit of both," I admitted.

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Hefty Haul

We loaded the crates at dawn—or what passed for dawn in this land of eternal day. Gus pulled up in his flatbed, dust kicking up behind his rig like an old dog stretchin'. The boys loaded up row after row of boxed tubers, baskets of legumes, sacks of dry beans, and jars of Lu’s trial-run pickles and canned mash. Even a few barrels of mash liquor made the trip, well-strapped and sealed with care.

"You sure we oughta sell the pickled stuff?" I asked, eyeing the jars.

Lu shrugged. "We’ll never know if folks like 'em unless we try. Besides, you taste that spice blend I used? That’s export-grade, Ron."

Gus chuckled. "She’s got ambition, this one. You best keep up."

The co-op market was set up in a dome outside town, air-conditioned and bustling, filled with folks from nearby farms and outposts. It reminded me of a county fair back on Earth—if the county fair had solar panels, oxygen gates, and a bartering system run by AI.

We found our spot thanks to Gus, who'd reserved a vendor slot next to his own. A wiry woman with a sunhat wider than my truck bed came over, scanning our crates with a handheld.

"You’re the new lot from Ridgeview Farm?" she asked.

"That’s us," I said, hand outstretched. "Ron Hosen. This here’s Lu, and those are our boys."

"Welcome," she said, shaking firm. "Name's Venn. I handle brokerage for the co-op. Let me tally what you’ve got, and I’ll let you know what it’s worth."

She worked fast, mumbling numbers, weights, and nutritional ratings into her wrist comm. When she was done, she looked up and whistled.

"Y’all have any idea what you’ve brought in? This haul fills three regional contracts we’ve been trying to patch for weeks. These tubers—look at the mineral content! And the legumes? They’re practically glowing."

I raised an eyebrow. "So... we done good?"

"You done great. I’ll wire the full payment by end of day."

She handed over a tablet with the breakdown. I had to squint.

"Is that... is that figure right?"

Lu leaned over my shoulder. Her eyes went wide. "That’s more than we made all quarter from the booze."

"And you ain’t even sold the pickles yet," Gus added, slapping my back.

We all looked at each other, stunned.

"Maybe," I said slowly, "just maybe… we rethink what our cash crop is."

Lu smirked. "Corn might be the past. Tubers? They’re the future, baby."

We laughed, but in the back of my mind, wheels were already turning. We had choices now. Options. And by the look on Lu’s face, she was already making plans.

Big ones.