After I Stopped Buying Their Corn, the Farmers Panicked Chapter 05

After I Stopped Buying Their Corn, the Farmers Panicked Chapter 05

A few days later, the old chairman showed up at my door. 

The reckless arrogance from last time was gone. He looked drained. He’d forced a smile onto his face, and he was carrying 

two bottles of whiskey that had clearly been gathering dust for 

years. 

“Ms. Blake. You busy?” 

I looked at him and said nothing. The places on my ribs where 

I’d been hit still ached when I moved wrong. 

He set the whiskey on the table, and his voice came out 

awkward. “What happened before–that was our fault. Noah’s young, impulsive. The rest of us old fools got swept up with him. Don’t hold it against us.” 

I sighed. “Just say what you came to say.” 

He grabbed at it like a lifeline. “It’s the corn. We’ve still got a 

lot of corn in the fields. It’s near overripe now, won’t keep 

much longer, and the store can’t move what we’ve already 

pulled in. It’s all going to rot.” 

“Ms. Blake, please help us out. Just one more time. Just once. 

You name the price. Fifty cents… no, thirty cents a pound, even 

-we’ll take it.” 

Watching him on the edge of tears, my heart softened for a second. After all, the corn was innocent. It was a whole year’s hope for those families. 

I poured him a glass of water and let my tone come down a 

notch. 

“Hank, it’s not that I don’t want to buy. You can see the 

situation. The problem isn’t the price. It’s the channel. Noah Reed’s shop can’t possibly move an entire co–op’s output. How much of the money you all pooled is left? How long can you hold out?” 

His lips trembled. He couldn’t answer. 

I went on. “It’s still not too late to cut your losses. Go back and 

talk to Noah. Tell him to transfer the store or scale it down- 

make it a small premium shop, work within his means. As for 

the rest of the corn, find local small buyers. Sell what you can. 

That’s still better than letting all of it rot in the field.” 

A flicker of hope crossed his red–rimmed eyes. 

“Yes–yes! I’ll go back and talk to Noah right away. Ms. Blake, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. What you say really 

does cut different…” 

But I’d plainly overestimated whatever sense Noah Reed had 

left. 

When the old chairman passed on my advice, Noah blew up. He threw the man out on the spot. He called him a “doddering fool,” said he’d been pushed around by middlemen for so long he couldn’t make his own decisions anymore, and–through 

some twisted side route–accused me of “fake kindness,” of being jealous now that they were on the verge of success and wanting to lowball them while they were down.