Winter passed with almost no contact between our families. Then, one evening in March, Mason put down his spoon and asked his father, Travis, why we couldn’t grow our own corn.

Travis looked at him thoughtfully before mentioning the three-quarter-acre plot behind our shed. By May, all four of us were planting. Mason had spent the winter reading library books about sweet corn, and he confidently explained the spacing, planting depth, and watering. Ruby counted the seeds as we worked. This time, Travis made a cardboard sign with two names painted across it in large white letters: Mason and Ruby.

We decided to sell outside the fire station near Alder Creek’s four-way stop. On opening morning in July, we arrived with crates of freshly picked corn. Chief Dalton came out with his coffee, studied our sign, and bought the first dozen. Instead of handing the money to Travis, he placed it directly in Ruby’s palm. Soon, other firefighters, local business owners, and church members began arriving. The children worked proudly, and the line grew longer by the minute.