The Year Money Grew on Trees - Aaron Hawkins [27]
When class ended, all the other kids fled. I waited around in front of the door, blocking Brother Brown's exit. He had his head down and almost walked into me.
"Brother Brown, I just wanted to say that I liked your lesson about Daniel ... and the Sermon on the Mount too."
He kept his head down, looking on either side of my feet for an escape route.
"I hate to bother you here at church, but you're the only person who can help me."
He raised his head a little. His face and hands were not only wrinkled; they looked like they had been baked in an oven until there was a tough, brown shell around them.
"I was hoping you could give me some advice on fertilizer."
He leveled his head and looked right at me. "Like what?"
"Like do you ever use any of those chemical types?"
"Nah, I can't keep track of all of 'em. Stick with the natural stuff when I need it."
"Like manure?"
"Yep."
"Well, where can I get some?"
"Just follow your nose, son."
And with that he squeezed his way around me and was gone. I would have liked to have asked him more questions, like how many cows it took to fertilize one tree. I assumed three hundred trees meant something like three hundred cows.
There were a few places up and down the main road that looked like they had those kinds of cow numbers, including a couple of dairies. The smelliest of the dairies was about a mile from our house. On a hot summer day, if the wind was blowing just right, you could catch a whiff of it even inside. My mom would scrunch up her nose and say, "I wish they would clean up that place! It's not right that we should have to smell it too."
The dairy happened to be on our bus route, so I got to see it every school day. Five or six kids would get off the bus near there. On Monday after school, I held my breath and followed them.
Amy looked at me with an almost frightened expression as I walked past her.
"I'll see you in half an hour or so," I said to her quickly before my exit.
Looking around, it was hard to tell where humans would actually work at the dairy. There were a few wooden buildings with holes in the sides that looked like they were about to collapse. Mostly there were cows inside weak-looking wooden fences. They were standing very close together. Most of them were black and white, but halfway up their bodies they were covered in manure that was a disgusting brown-green. I wondered why they didn't all just push against those fences and get out. They all just stood there, though, chewing with blank expressions on their faces. Maybe cows liked being together like this. And when it came to making lots of manure, these were definitely the right kind of cows.
I wandered cautiously over to the biggest of the buildings. I didn't see any movement and was afraid to go inside, so I started shouting.
"Hello! Is anybody there? I need to talk to someone about manure. Hello!"
A short man with a buzzed haircut came walking out. He was wearing a filthy brown jumpsuit. Like the cows, he had a coating of manure almost halfway up his body.
"You the one callin' out?" he asked, with a big toothy smile. His teeth were perfectly straight and very white against the brown jumpsuit and surroundings.
"Uh, yeah, it was me. I live down the road about a mile." I pointed toward my house. "I need to talk with someone about manure."
He put his hand out to shake. "Jerry Wheeler. If there's anything I'm an expert on, it's manure." His hand was just as dirty as his jumpsuit. I hesitated, then swallowed hard and shook it.
"So whatcha wanna know?"
"I've got this orchard I'm trying to take care of. Used to be Mr. Nelson's—Jack Nelson's."
"Oh yeah, I know the place."
"So, anyway, I got a bunch of trees I need to fertilize, and Brother