Campfire Tales: Redirection

It had been a long, hot day, and Eva had spent it toiling in her garden. With heartfelt dreams of living off the land, she grew a variety of vegetables for the farmers market every week, hoping to be known as the Carrot Queen of Bonner County someday. She didn’t like the high prices charged by some of the other farmers at the market, and the greed of elitist “organic” food at the grocery stores. What she wanted to do was set a new standard of “regular prices for regular folks” without all the gimmicks.

Eva did all the work herself, by hand, the old-fashioned way. All the vegetables were cleaned at the washing station beside the garden and packed into coolers. An old kitchen sink had been installed there, and was hooked up to the water spigot. But on this day, it was running dry. A long trench had been haphazardly ripped deep into the ground toward the new horse shelter across the yard, presumably to run a new water line. In the process, one of the guys had busted the main pipe with the ditch digger, and the water had been shut off.

No one had bothered to mention any of this to Eva and she’d arrived to find the place looking like a deserted war zone. When she called George in a panic, all he said was “Oops, guess I forgot.” She’d been forced to rig an impromptu washing station elsewhere, and the process had taken three times as long and nearly driven her mad. On top of that, Eva’s $1,800 custom irrigation system, designed to drip out only eight gallons per hour in the name of conservation and good stewardship of the land, wasn’t dripping anything now. And earlier, before the water had been cut, she had become furious over finding George’s 500-gallon cattle trough spilling over again.

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