Two days later, I was in contact with a real estate agent. She was local to the area I was looking in and would be an excellent resource to help me find the land I needed. Through the real estate agent, I had leads to follow. That meant a trip to see the land for myself. I hadn’t heard from Al about someone to handle the finances, but I wasn’t worried. There was plenty of time to find one—well, maybe not plenty, but definitely enough.

  Dad took me. The drive took three hours just to get to the general area. The villages—which were relatively close as the crow flies—were difficult to navigate between. It wasn’t something I’d understood from looking at a map of the area. Now that I was here, I saw how I would want to have my fields all in one town.

  We booked a hotel room in one of the towns. Two of the towns didn’t have a place to stay—and staying farther away than that would just add a lot of travel time to the trip—so we picked the only option. I could tell that their service quality wasn’t good—maybe because it was the only game in town, or maybe because no one visited and they needed to keep expenses low. Still, it wasn’t terrible.

  After checking in, we met up with the real estate agent outside the hotel. The agent—Vanessa—was a middle-aged woman with bleached hair and gaudy nails. That was all I could see, aside from her overly large winter jacket.

  “Eddy?” she asked Dad.

  “That’s my son,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m Milton.”

  “Good to meet you both!”

  I nodded in lieu of saying anything.

  “We’re standing in downtown Perryville,” she said. “Of the three towns in the area, it’s the largest. The other two—Waterford and Katamie—are about the same size. Today, we’re going to look at two tracts of land near Katamie. The rest, we’ll see tomorrow. I want to make sure there’s enough time for you to walk the land.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Vanessa raised an eyebrow for just a moment.

  “I’ll see you at the first property. You can follow me, if you’d like.”

  Dad and I piled into his truck and followed her car. It was a thirty-minute drive along narrow, winding country roads. There was a small amount of snow on the side of the road. The fields we drove by were mostly barren, but there were small patches of snow where the sun didn’t quite reach.

  I got out of the truck when we arrived. This field looked large from the side of the road. I checked the listing on Dad’s phone. It was about twenty acres—a quarter of what I would need.

  “This property has been actively farmed for decades,” Vanessa informed us. “At a little over 21 acres, it’s a good size for a cooperative—or so I am told.”

  “What sorts of crops has this land been used for?” I asked.

  “Corn, I think,” she answered.

  I could see the severed corn stalks poking up from the ground and through the patches of snow. There were windbreaks every few acres—breaking the plot into smaller fields that could accommodate different crops.

  “Why are they selling the land?” Dad asked while we walked.

  I kept an ear out for their conversation. It was as important as walking the land.

  “The owner wants to retire. He’s got no children that would take over for him when he’s gone.”

  “Better to have the money and remove any squabbling?”

  “Sounds like it to me.”

  “Probably a good call,” Dad commented.

  The ground was mostly smooth. It followed the contours of the surrounding land without too many rocks that I could see. I scooped up a small amount of the dirt into a plastic container for testing. While I didn’t need to know the quality everywhere, having a general idea of what to expect was worthwhile. A single data point would give e a ballpark estimate, and that was good enough.

  After walking the land—it took a while just to see the basics—we hopped in the truck and went to the next plot. It was similar, though smaller. The owner was the same. Combined, both added up to around 35 acres. It was too small for what I wanted to do. Small enough to test with, but not more than that. I told Dad as much when we got in the truck to head back to Perryville.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  “Too small,” I said. “The land looks fine from what I see—not that I know too much about land—but the main issue is that I need around 100 acres.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know that. Any way you could combine fields together in the area?”

  “I’d have to drive between the fields. I don’t think you’ll want to do that all the time.”

  I laughed, imagining Dad driving me around in my own personal taxi.

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “Hopefully, tomorrow’s options are better.”

  “Hopefully.”

  “Let’s see what the food is like in Perryville,” he said after a moment.

  The sun was setting. My stomach agreed with his thoughts.

  “Sure.”

  It turned out there weren’t many options for food. There was a pizza joint, a cafe, and a Chinese place. The cafe was closed—breakfast and lunch only—so we flipped a coin. Pizza won out, so that’s where we went.

  The pizza restaurant was in the downtown. The downtown was small—a church, the hotel, the restaurant, the cafe, and a couple small shops. We parked in front of the restaurant and walked in. Inside, it had two areas—a bar that was about half filled, and the restaurant proper, which was empty. Dad got us a table.

  I observed the people. None of them were younger than 30. Most of them were men, and most of them were on the older side. They looked rough—not in a dangerous sort of way, but from a hard life. They were people of the land. Just who I hoped to become. Well, for around fifteen years, that was.

  None of them paid us any mind. I was ok with that. I was just some stranger—a person from out of town who would probably move on in a day. That’s what I imagined they’d think if they glanced over.

  The server dropped off the pizza. It was… bad. While not the worst pizza I’d ever had—that went to one of those gluten-free pizzas an ex girlfriend had insisted was amazing—it was the worst I’d had at a restaurant. Bad pizza was still better than a lot of foods, so I didn’t outwardly complain. Maybe in another life, I would have taken on the challenge of bringing good food to the town. Now—though—the priority was farming as much experience as I could.

  Dad and I ate in peace before going back to the hotel. I slept ok. Dad complained his back hurt while we ate something at the cafe. The cafe was markedly better than the pizza restaurant had been. Maybe the town wasn’t a complete failure for food.

  Vanessa met us at some property nearby. It was a larger plot—around 50 acres. It took a while to walk it. I noticed there was a sizable stream that ran through—roughly—the middle of the land. I figured it would provide decent irrigation opportunities. As long as it remained at a high volume throughout the hotter months.

  After asking a bunch of questions, that parcel was a top contender. It didn’t have quite enough land for what I wanted, but maybe the other nearby ones could supplement it. To top it off, the price was a better deal than the ones I’d seen yesterday. While the price didn’t matter too much, it still mattered. A hundred million was a lot of money, but frivolously spending it would make it go away quickly.

  We were shown two more fields in Parryville. Together, they added up to 30 acres. That would mean 80 acres in total if I went that route. It was the lower end of what I wanted, and I might be able to purchase more later. For now, though, it would be enough to get started.

  After Perryville, we jumped into our vehicles and looked at the properties in Waterford. Like Katamie yesterday, there wasn’t enough land on sale to make it worthwhile. The land available also looked to be of a lesser quality than the other two towns. That left me with a single choice.

  “Did any of what you’ve seen the past two days catch your interest?” Vanessa asked Dad.

  All of her questions had been directed towards Dad. I knew why she did that. Even so, it bothered me at a fundamental level. I might be young, but it was my company!

  “The three in Perryville,” I said.

  “I agree,” Dad said.

  “So what do you want to put in as the offer for those? I will talk to their agent with whatever numbers you tell me.”

  “What do you think?” Dad whispered to me.

  “$300,000 for the 50 acre one, $425,000 for the 20 acre one that has the house on it, and $75,000 for the 10 acre one.”

  Dad passed those numbers along to Vanessa.

  “I’ll contact the seller’s agent and let you know what they say. Were there any other places you wanted to see or other questions you had?”

  Dad looked at me.

  “I think we’re good,” he said when he saw me shake my head.

  “Alright! It was good to meet the both of you. Call me or email me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” Dad said.

  We waved goodbye and got back in his truck for the ride home.

  A week later—after much negotiation—I secured all three. I would need to complete the transactions at a later date, but they had been agreed to. Instead of the $800,000 I originally offered, it had climbed another $15,000. It wasn’t terrible. The renovations I wanted to do to the house and the fields would take a good amount of money. As would the purchasing of machinery, seeds, equipment, and whatever else I needed. I was glad to have such a large pile of cash to work with.

  In order to close on the land, I needed Al to handle the documents—or at least recommend an attorney in the area who could handle it better. I emailed him with that request and a reminder about the tax person. The end of the year was fast approaching and I would need that person before tax season started next year.

  An hour later, I had my reply. He apologized for taking a long time to answer my question about the tax person, so he gave me a couple of recommendations. He also confirmed that he would be the one handling the real estate transaction. Mom or Dad would have to go with me to sign the paperwork, but otherwise it would be a painless—if boring—couple of hours.

  I shot an email to Vanessa asking about a closing date. I passed her reply on to Al. Then I researched the accountants he’d suggested. Of the two, Katherine Jacobs looked the most promising. I emailed her with Al’s referral and got a reply soon thereafter. We scheduled a phone call for later that very day.

  I had Mom handle the phone call in my stead. She agreed to handle the taxes of both myself and my business. She suggested I get someone internally to do the day-to-day accounts payable stuff. I wasn’t familiar with how any of that worked, so it was probably a good idea. I also needed to get someone to be my assistant. If they did both jobs, that would be for the best. While I pondered exactly what I needed, I let Al know of Katherine’s selection and thanked him.