When he was in places like this, separated from the rush and responsibility of the rest of his life, he dreamed about his future. Not his actual future—that was already laid out for him in the form of the two-story warehouse on County Road 23 that had been an institution in the lives of area farmers for nearly sixty years. “Farmers don’t take vacations, and neither do we” was the motto of the store, open seven to seven, seven days a week. One day Tyler would don the navy blue hat with the trademark barn-and-silo logo and take his dad’s place behind the counter. That was his actual future.

The future he dreamed about was decidedly less utilitarian. Tyler had let it slip several years ago that he thought he kinda, sorta, maybe wanted to be a teacher. Dixon Holt had no problem with education, of course, but he made it clear early on that teaching was a job for people who didn’t have anything else to do. Who didn’t have a business to run. He didn’t have to say he thought it was a job better suited for females—his mom told Tyler that much, though her worry was more along the lines of how much trouble he could get in if he so much as looked the wrong way at a female student.

But Tyler loved the feeling he got when something finally clicked into place in his mind, whether a math equation or a novel’s theme. He wanted to encourage kids in the same way his teachers had encouraged him, and he couldn’t do that while tossing bags of horse feed in the back of pickup trucks and debating with farmers about the benefits of Bahia grass over Bermuda.

As he threw the last handful of straw down, the breeze picked up. He paused and closed his eyes, savoring the cool fingers on his face as his sweat evaporated and his breathing slowed. When he opened his eyes, the tops of the trees were swaying back and forth. With all the leaves fluttering in tandem, it looked like a school of minnows above him, first darting this way, then that.

A moment later, Ruby came running from the side of the house and plopped down next to him, her eyes focused on the trees above. For a large dog she was nervous about most everything, especially wind.

“It’s okay, girl.” Tyler scratched behind her soft ears. It was a strange wind. More like fall than early summer. He glanced up to see Ms. Trudy approaching, a bulging plastic grocery sack hanging by her elbow. She pulled her pad and a pencil from her back pocket. Thank you so much. Looks great. Violet went to open the shop but she says thank you too.

“No problem. The old straw had gotten pretty flat. This should keep your weeds down, and it’ll help when summer rains start up.”

She waved good-bye and he started toward his truck, then stopped. “Wait, Ms. Trudy, I almost forgot.” She paused on the bottom step and he reached over his seat and opened the glove box. He grabbed the Ziploc bag and walked it over to her. “I found these last week down in Orange Beach. Thought you might be able to use them in one of your sculptures.”