They drove down the driveway blasting “Casey Jones.” Caitlin stopped next to the first greenhouse.

Mary got out speaking at full volume. “This is better than Sonoma.”

Caitlin followed her to the greenhouse door. “But, Mary, Sonoma had wine.”

Mary peered through the translucent glass. “Looks like cucumbers or zucchini.”

Down a service road, the land took a gradual descent toward the trees. A clearing beyond the corn hosted a flock of thirty-foot, three-bladed windmills.

Caitlin turned back to Mary. “Anyone in there?”

“Not a man in sight, but with that many cucumbers, who needs one?”

She reached for the handle. “Unlocked.”

They peeked in. Tall, large-leafed plants ran along both walls. The scent of cucumber filled the humid air.

Mary tapped Caitlin, jumped back into character. “My mother used to have the best tomatoes, or at least, that’s what Dad said. He left her when they went bad.”

A male voice yelled from behind them. “What the hell are you doing?”

They turned toward a six-foot twenty-something in overalls with a T-shirt underneath, fresh sweat circles under the pits, a scraggly beard, and a pair of plastic carpenter’s goggles pushed back onto his bandana-covered forehead.

Caitlin offered her hand. “Hi, we’re here for the tour.”

He stared at her hand like he’d never seen one. “The what?”

Mary got in the game. “We’re organnies.”

“What the hell’s an organny?”

Caitlin looked to Mary. “I told you it wasn’t a word.”

Mary didn’t miss a beat. “Organnies are organic farm lovers, and that’s what we are. I write a blog.”

His sweaty brow bunched up like it hurt. “Sounds like you steal people’s organs, lady.”

Caitlin laughed. “That’s why I call us green girls. Either way”—she held her hand out again—“we’d love to look around the place.”

His hand met hers for a clammy squeeze. “We don’t do tours.”

“But we drove all the way from the Colony,” Mary said, way too loud. “What’s your name?”

“Gooch,” he said. “What’s a colony?”

“Mary, he doesn’t want to hear about the Colony.”

Mary snaked her hand through Gooch’s arm, got real close. “The Colony’s a hippie enclave in West Baden, where clothes are a choice and people live off the land.”

“How old are you ladies?”

“Not that old,” Mary said. “But I grew up there. Learned about the earth—and my natural body. You’ve got a great beard. Can I touch it?”

Gooch blushed. “I guess.”

She rubbed his whiskers, looked into his eyes. “A beard like this? You’d be attacked day and night in the Colony.”

He looked toward the road. “I can’t give you a tour. I’m the only one here.”

Mary let go of his beard, took his arm again. “Then who would know? Please, we’ll make it worth your while.”