Misty couldn’t help herself. She just had to pull over to the side of the narrow asphalt and gravel road. She had reached the turnoff where she would leave the asphalt road and head up the dirt road to the north.
It certainly wasn’t her first time behind the wheel of a rough-country vehicle. It would just be the first time she was taking an official county-owned vehicle off-road, and seemed like an important moment. Plus, she needed a little time to gather her thoughts and, if she was being honest, her courage.
Department of Agriculture Special Agent Michelle Angelou Herrera had driven through five miles of working wind turbine fields since she had left the ranch office. The oldest turbines were closest to the office, installed back in the 2010s, and they had thrummed so loud she could feel the vibrations. With each subsequent field, the turbines grew quieter, closer together, and increasingly efficient in a marvel of good business management. John Oscar Horswill’s operation had been a chapter in one of her land management textbooks, and Misty had gotten her fifteen minutes of fame among her classmates for knowing the family.
Misty climbed out of the vehicle, pulling her trusty binoculars from the side pocket in the door, and looked over the hood to the south. The man she was looking for wouldn’t be there, but it was easier to set the focus using the rows of sleek turbines that ran clear to the horizon.
This particular field was eerily silent, except for the ever-present Texas Panhandle wind lightly whistling through the blades of the turbines. The reason for the shutdown was apparent by the dozen or so bison grazing on the last of the winter grass around the concrete bases. Soon these stragglers would join the herds heading north, and the wind turbines could be activated again.
Misty turned and scanned in the opposite direction, her view following the dirt road, to the top of a slight rise, where she spotted the pickup truck along the horizon, maybe two miles out. The landscape was so flat here that it made judging distances a little tricky sometimes. Misty had grown up in this country, land of wind and grass, but she still enjoyed the wide open sky. She also marveled at the size of undeveloped land she was viewing, that little dirt road the only sign of human intervention.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. The pickup was parked next to an antique windmill; the kind used back in the Wild West days to water herds of long-horns. That had to be a message of some sort. John Horswill had chosen that location specifically, and left instructions that if she wanted to talk to him, she had to come out there. The hands also warned her that he was not in a cooperative mood.
As she climbed back in and put away the binoculars, Misty noticed again the crisp cleanliness of her sleeve and uniform cuff. Definitely screamed brand new on the job. She had considered washing the uniform a few times, torn between wanting to fit in and wanting to look spiffy. Now, she wished she had washed it at least once.
No point in worrying about that now. The Governor had called the county extension office himself and made his position clear. The Texas National Guard was stationed at the Oklahoma State line and ready to defend the agreement. Sadly, that service call-up had included Misty’s boss and two-thirds of the staff. With Peterson and Chu on sick leave, that left Misty as the only agriculture agent with enforcement authority for a hundred miles. She had been given twenty-four hours to de-escalate the situation. Her job, her career, and everyone’s future depended on talking one stubborn rancher down.
She got back into the SUV and drove bumpily along the dirt road. She lost sight of him when she descended into a gully, but wasn’t worried. He was expecting her and wasn’t going anywhere.
The road turned upwards, and she found herself at a tip of the rise, with a 360-degree view of gently rolling grassland in every direction. She parked and got out.
The lean, rugged man stood with his hip leaned against the fender, his back to her, gazing off to the north. Yep, he definitely was going to make this hard for her.
As Misty walked up, he turned with exaggerated slowness and studied her. Then he nodded his head, once. “Agent Hererra.”
She knew she had to show strength. She met his gaze. “Mr. Horswill.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought at least I’d rate a visit from Carl himself. Probably doesn’t want to face me. I saved his life, you know, during the Buffalo Freedom war.”
Misty saw her opening and jumped on it. “Carl has told me about that, more than once, and with pride. Nobody has more respect for you than Carl, and he would be here if he could. But he is also National Guard, and right now he’s at the Oklahoma border.” She didn’t actually know where Carl was stationed, but it could have been true.
She said, “There are bands of protestors camped along the interstate, vowing to keep it open. I’m sorry, I really am. But if you don’t make the call today, there could be serious trouble. Carl could get hurt.”
Horswill shook his head. “That is none of my doing. I don’t need damn protestors marching and screaming about my rights. None of them done a day’s work in their lives. They’re just used to having electronic gadgets glued to their bodies day and night. I fight for my own rights. Always have.”
“Then call them off. This accord took decades to hammer into place, but if Texas doesn’t police their own, the whole agreement will start to unravel.”
“Dammit, girl, I tried. Their leader gave me some BS about the issue being bigger than me. That doesn’t make any sense. All my family has ever wanted is to work our own land, earn our own way with our own hands. They don’t care about that.”
“You’re right, they don’t. It’s not for public consumption, but the Governor told me something. There’s a suspicion that these agitators are backed by the Canadians. The FBI is looking into it, but there’s no proof yet, and the investigation is going to take time. We don’t have that kind of time. Tomorrow at this time, there could be blood, and it doesn’t have to happen.”
“I met the Canadian prime minister, once, at an AG conference. Well, let’s just say he and I didn’t hit it off.”
“There you go. Listen, please make the call. Turn the trucks around, before they reach the state line, and there’s a confrontation.”
“And if I don’t, are you going to arrest me?”
He was calling her bluff. He didn’t believe she could arrest him, and he was most likely right. Even if she could, that still wouldn’t force him to cancel a legitimate business deal. Well, when you can’t do something, pretend you didn’t want to, anyway.
She said, “No, that’s not my job. I’m going to work with you, and work for you, just like my office has always done. We are dedicated to supporting and sustaining agriculture and land management. Right now, my job is to make you see the bigger picture. The Denmark Accord was designed to address the issue globally, and that means everybody. Countries, states, cities, utilities, and every single wind-power entity halts any expansion work right now.”
He said, “Giant corporations can afford it. I’m not a big corporation. This expansion was a huge investment. Those trucks are carrying five billion dollars’ worth of equipment — enough to set up another thousand acres of wind production. It’s more than lost revenue. There’s work for the contractors setting them up, and my people for maintaining them. Jobs lost, revenue gone, and a penalty with the supplier. I can’t ask them to pay for that.”
She said, “Again, it’s my job to fight for your compensation, and I promise you we will do that. I know this is a big blow, to your business and to your life. But we have to stop wind farming. Studies are showing the results could devastate the planet.”
“Studies, right. These are the same brilliant minds that shut down the oil business and told us this was the answer. Are they admitting they were wrong? My family went through a rough patch when the government shut down oil production, and I haven’t heard any apologies yet.”
“That was seventy-five years ago. Back then there was only a tiny percentage of the wind farms that we have now. Then thousands of windmills turned into millions, hundreds of millions, all over the planet. Surely it makes sense that so many would affect the wind patterns.”
“A good effect, I reckon. I don’t know when last time we had an F4 or F5 tornado. We used to say, ‘The only thing between the North Pole and the Texas Panhandle is a barbed wire fence.’ Sayings like that don’t mean anything to your generation. You’ve never known a real winter.”
“That’s just it. The climate is stagnating. We just happen to be in the right place here in the Panhandle for it to benefit us. Other parts of the world are suffering, either constant heat or bitter cold.”
“Hah! When I was a kid, all they talked about was how the North Pole was melting. Well, it’s not melting now, and has been rock solid for twenty years.”
“I know. Just like you, everybody thought that was a good thing, but now we know it’s not. Some climate variation is normal, and we’re upsetting the balance. We didn’t realize the importance of seasonal hurricanes to oceanic life. The oceans are dying. There are projections that within the next fifty years …”
“Oh, believe me, I’ve heard those predictions before. End of the world, it’s almost too late! Chicken Little is what got my grandfather into this business in the first place. Now Chicken Little is going to take it away.”
“No, all they want is to stop the expansion.”
“Humph. That’s what they say today. Tomorrow, they’ll want us to scale back, and then again in a couple of years, and again and again, until the entire operation isn’t profitable anymore.”
“I won’t pretend that isn’t being discussed. Eventually, there will be some kind of attrition agreement, not replacing worn-out equipment. But look, that’s tomorrow. Seriously, it took them a decade to hammer out this treaty, and you may never have to worry about it. It will be Junior’s problem, right? Or maybe even Little Junior’s problem, it could take that long.”
Her voice took on a sharp edge. “You have a huge farm right now. Isn’t it enough? Please, it’s time to think of your legacy. Tell the trucks to turn around. Don’t go down like this. Please, please, don’t go into history as the greedy man who destroyed the world.”
Horswill’s face closed, and he stared off to the north. Did she go too far? She was out of arguments anyway and had said everything she could. Misty decided it would be a good idea to shut up now and let him think.
The antique windmill squeaked. The south-east wind was a mild breeze today and brought just a whiff of the bison manure along with it. Otherwise, it was silent.
After an eternity, Horswill nodded over to the stock tank, and spoke, “That windmill, or one like it, has been here for over two hundred years. The original Oscar Horswill put it in in the 1890s. The giant cattle ranches were breaking up, and he was able to buy some land and a dozen head of cattle. This little windmill meant he had water for the cattle all year round, didn’t have to drive them to water holes, and was what made him successful. He spent his whole life building up the stock ranch to pass on.
“He’s buried right over there, right here under that cairn of rocks. It was what he wanted. It’s hard to believe, but just thirty years after he arrived, there was a bunch of wet-weather years and everybody was switching to farming. It was the 1900s and Wheat was King, and the farmers were bringing in all sorts of tractors and such, carving up the land and putting in fields. ‘Feeding the nation’, they called it. Things were changing on him, and they said he didn’t like it one bit. He wanted this section kept empty, so he could spend eternity in the wild land he loved, before everything was tamed and civilized.
Horswill waved at the oil derrick rocking away off in the distance. “Of course, he didn’t know anything about oil back then.”
The oil-well pump perched on its concrete base, like a giant insect. It amazed her to see that it was actually moving, the head slowly rocking up and down. Seriously, oil production in this day?
Misty asked, “That derrick isn’t actually producing, is it?”
“Well, there are a few little refineries left, making gasoline for antique car enthusiasts. It’s not a paying market, though. Of course, it might also be a photo-op for the fly-over tourists. I ain’t telling.”
He continued the story. “His little girl, my great-mama, was a fairly new widow with ten kids, having lost her husband in the First World War. But she was ready when the oil company reps came sniffing around, trying to sucker her out of her fair share. She fought hard, and the family got good royalty payments for our mineral rights.”
Misty commented, “You know, there are still traces of oil in the water table.”
Horswill shrugged. “They didn’t know any better. I think they believed it would just drain away, back in to the ground it came from.
“I will tell you this. Those oil rights kept the family from starving during the Dust Bowl. They’re saying now that wouldn’t have happened if people like you hadn’t told us to level everything, tear the land up with tractors. See that dip over there, running off to the east? That’s what’s left of a massive gully, eroded away when half the state blew away. A hundred and fifty years — it’s taken that long for the land to heal itself. My family hung on, and rebuilt everything from nothing, turned this place into a functional, sustainable farm.”
Misty said, “And the agriculture department was right there, teaching irrigation techniques, and providing grants, loans, and subsidies. Our office has always cared about the land and sustainable agriculture. That’s why I wanted to be a part of it.”
That earned her a grudging nod, and a quick sideways glance before he returned studying the northern horizon. He said, “You know, my grandpa could tell. He saw the summer highs and winters lows getting worse every year, with grass fires and tornadoes like nobody had ever seen. This was long before the yahoos in Washington started whining about climate change. While politicians were still arguing about carbon emissions and the oil companies started getting regulated to death, Grand-dad was already doing his research.
“So by the time giant utility companies started begging for land to set up their wind-farms, he knew how to negotiate — making deals where we ended up owning the turbines and keeping our electricity rights. My grandfather reinvested the profits, bought his own equipment, built up this business.
“I was just a baby, but windmills were the perfect answer to everything — global warming, climate change, pollution, hell, they did everything but cure cancer. Today, absolutely everything runs on electricity, and electricity comes from our windmills. We provide reliable power for fifteen counties, across three states.
“My father spent his life working these turbines, just like I have. They are our life and our livelihood. We own them, we maintain them, and we profit from them. We support the country like we have since the beginning, with beef and oil and farming and wind-power. Now you want to take it away.”
Misty said, “Not all of it. Not today. And my office will fight for your rights and benefits, just like we’ve always done. It’s our job to protect the farmers and ranchers.”
He just shook his head and then nodded toward the antique windmill. “So now we’re back here. Back to the beginning.”
She looked around. “This is a beautiful spot, a perfect place for reflection. I can see why you come out here.”
“It is pretty, isn’t it? Dammit.”
John Horswill pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons, then put it away.
It took Misty a minute to realize what had happened. She couldn’t believe she had won. She had convinced him and saved the world. It was almost too easy. Yes, it was too easy. Well, she would take the victory anyway, but she had to let him know that she hadn’t been fooled. “Why, Mr. Horswill, if I didn’t know better, I would say you were just making me earn it.”
He did actually smile a little, then frowned intensely. “If I’ve been hearing correctly, I heard you’ve been sniffin’ around my grandson. You got your eye on our Little Junior?”
Misty was thrown by this sudden change of tone, but caught a glint of humor in his eye. She quelled her first response to remind him that Little Junior was twenty-nine years old and perfectly capable of making his own decisions.
She adopted a casual pose, and said, “Well, we have been out a couple of times. Nothing to report, though. Do I have your approval?”
Horswill’s face relaxed and he shrugged. “Could do worse.”
Misty didn’t know if he meant for her or Little Junior, but decided that a nod was the best response.
He indicated the horizon. “I wanted you to come out here because I wanted to show you this. I’ve talked to Junior and Little Junior both, but, as you so correctly reminded me, it’s going to be their decision, not mine. You may have to remind them sometime down the line. They’re stubborn, like their old man. Of course, that’s your job, as you said.
“You see, I thought it was time. I thought that the best way to honor my great-great-granddad was to keep the business growing. Those thousand acres I was talking about? They were going to be right out there.”
Misty’s face must have shown her dismay, because he looked down, for just a second, before meeting her eyes again. He said, “Apparently, Oscar Horswill the First didn’t care much for that idea either. I guess he just decided to go over my head.
“Remember that, Misty-girl. Greed has tried to destroy this land again and again, but it was always outsiders who were the greedy ones. This time it was going to be the family. Don’t let Little Junior make the same mistake.”
Misty nodded, not sure what words would be appropriate.
The old man seemed satisfied with that. “This land looks different than it did two hundred years ago, and it will look different two hundred years from now. But my people will be on it, and I hope they continue to do right by it.”
They listened to the squeaking windmill for a while, together. The shadows grew long across the grassland.
“You know, Misty, coming out here wasn’t easy. You’ll be alright. Tell Carl I said that.”
“Yessirr.”
“You remember the way back to the house? Side road past the office, and down to the river through the cottonwoods?”
“I do indeed.”
“Good, you go out first then, and I’ll follow you. I do believe there will be home-fried chicken tonight. Home-grown, hand-fed, running around their pen eating their own shit off the ground, like chickens ought to do. Best eating around.”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”