Eli waited. At 9:30, he started up his tractor. It wasn’t one of those sleek, modern machines. This was an old Massey Ferguson, sturdy and stubborn, like Eli himself. He hitched the plow attachment to the back and eased it into gear, the engine grumbling to life like a waking bear.
And then, with practiced hands, Eli drove straight into the field. Not over the cars, of course. He wasn’t reckless. He plowed around them—tight circles of fresh earth curling in on all sides, creating deep furrows and thick, uneven mounds of soil.