“Pretty good,” I said. “Though you didn’t tell her if you wanted apple or peach cobbler.”

“Which one was I supposed to say?”

“Apple. A county boy is going to pick what he—or at least a good many of his neighbors—make a living from.”

The picnic tables began to fill with families, and though I didn’t know all the children’s first names I knew the names of their parents and grandparents.

Earl Wilkinson came in as well and picked up something to go. Earl was a local who’d made good selling rafting trips to business and church groups and anybody else who would pay his fee and sign a waiver. He’d started off with one raft and himself the only guide. Now he had a flotilla of rafts and, during the peak season, several dozen employees. As I watched Earl walk out the door I wondered whose side he’d take at the meeting.

“Time to give you some background on the Tamassee,” I said when Becky brought our tea. “If I don’t, you’ll have no idea what they’re yelling at each other about tonight.”

“I’m listening,” Allen said.

“The most important thing is that the Tamassee is a Wild and Scenic River. That means it’s against federal law to disturb the river’s natural state. A lot of what this is going to come down to is how much change, if any, in the river’s environment can be made. That includes temporary trails, portable dams, and anything else that’s not already there.”

“But all those things are just for short-term use.”

“The environmentalists, especially Luke Miller, won’t see it that way. They believe that once you let the law be violated, you open the Tamassee up for all sorts of other exceptions, including ones for developers. And that’s not just an over-reaction. I’ve seen it happen. Twenty years ago the Chattahoochee was as pristine as the Tamassee. Now that watershed’s little more than a housing development with an open sewer running through its middle.”

“Sounds like you may have already made up your mind about whose side you’re on,” Allen said, but his tone made it unclear if he thought that a good or bad thing.

“Maybe I have. It’s nice to know there’s something in the world that’s uncorrupted. Something that can’t be bought and cut up into pieces so somebody can make money off it.”

Allen smiled. “I didn’t realize I’d be eating dinner with Wendell Berry.”

“Sorry to wax poetic,” I said, “but the Tamassee’s the last free-flowing river in this state. A wild river’s something that can’t be replicated or brought back once it’s gone.”

Becky wove through the kids and picnic tables with our food.

“Anything else you need?” Becky said, as she laid our plates before us.