Alison chewed her dirty fingernails. She was standing in the field when the woman arrived. It began to rain. Alison loved the rain. It turned this place, her home, her favourite place in the world, into somewhere ripped from a fantasy novel.

She trudged up to the woman’s silver Mercedes. The woman had a clean suit and pristine hair tied up in a precise bun, not one hair out of place.

Alison stood with her hair draped over her muddy face. Dirt and grass covered her shirt and pants. She wiped her wrinkled hand on the cleanest part of her pants and offered it out to the lady.

‘Alison,’ she said. ‘So nice to meet you.’

The lady put her hand out hesitantly. The two women shook hands. 

‘Judy,’ the woman answered curtly. ‘So this is the place… Wandering Hollow. How long have you had it?’

‘Our family has had it for over two hundred years. I inherited from my father when he passed.’

Judy took out her clipboard and paper. Rain dotted the pages.

‘How much yield have you had this year?’ she asked.

Alison described the amounts of potatoes, carrots, eggplants, and the other assorted vegetables she grew over the year.

She took Judy around the property. Judy barely said a word. When they finished the tour, the sun came out. The valley was shining. The birds were singing, and her favourite creek rippled.

A lump caught in Alison’s throat and her wrinkled hands trembled as she thought of how she could lose it all.

‘H-how much do you need for this place to be viable?’

She wanted to know the answer, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear it.

‘I’ll make the assessment and return the answer by close of business tomorrow.’

Alison’s stomach churned. An entire day of agonising awaited.

***

Alison tossed and turned all night. Eventually, the pitter patter of rain had faded away, leaving only the soft creaks of the old farmhouse and the distant hoot of an owl to keep her company.

Alison lay on her back and stared at the wooden ceiling beams. She thought of her father, her grandfather, and all of those before them who walked this land, tilled its soil, and made it their own. The one and only Wandering Hollow.

What if the numbers didn’t add up and Judy’s report told her what she feared most?

Would she sell?

Could she?

She’d be found hanging from the rafters before that would happen. 

Dawn broke, and golden mist covered the land. Alison dragged herself out of bed, made herself a cup of coffee, and wandered the grounds barefoot. The fields were silent, save for the chittering birds waking with the sun.

She felt the damp earth between her toes. Centuries of blood and sweat coursed underneath her, interwoven with the roots, minerals, and bugs alive in the land.

Alison crouched down and ran her fingers over the fuzzy leaves of her tomato plants.

‘You’re not just numbers,’ she whispered to them.

***

The day felt like it would never end. Alison busied herself planting carrots, mending a fence, organising her tools — anything to keep her mind occupied. But the worry stayed lodged in her gut.

Then, just before five, the silver Mercedes crawled its way up the driveway.

Alison could feel her heart hammering.

Judy stepped out of the car, clipboard in hand, her bun still impossibly perfect.

Alison wiped her hands on her jeans and swallowed hard. Judy’s stony face gave no indication if she had good news or bad.

‘So h-how’d you go?’ Alison asked.

Judy glanced at her notes, then met Alison’s green eyes.

‘The numbers aren’t good, Alison.’

Alison felt her knees weaken, but she held firm.

‘Not good, but not impossible,’ Judy continued. ‘You’re running at a loss. That’s obvious. There is no guarantee, but with some adjustments—expanding into direct-to-consumer sales, marketing to high-end restaurants, maybe a small agritourism venture, maybe Airbnb—you could turn this place around.’

Alison blinked, ‘Agritourism? Airbnb?’

Judy nodded, ‘You’ve a lot to learn, Alison. You’re standing on a gold mine here. People pay good money to stay on working farms. You could hold weekend retreats, workshops, farm-to-table experiences, weddings, you name it. I have clients who would travel as long as it takes to visit a place like Wandering Hollow. You have no idea how many people crave a slice of the quiet country life.’

‘Quiet’s the way I like it. I don’t want this place to turn into Bush Vegas.’

‘It doesn’t have to. You can do it the way you like. An exclusive boutique experience would be even better. 

Alison chewed her lip as she thought it over.

Judy pressed, ‘If you’re willing to adapt, Wandering Hollow doesn’t have to go under. You just have to share this place with the world a little more, Alison. You can’t tuck it away forever. The world doesn’t want you to.’

Alison looked out at her land. The sun was setting. She smiled at the golden fields stretching towards the hills.

Could she change?

Could she share this place with strangers?

Could she handle it being a little louder?

She thought of her father’s hands in the dirt and the way he hummed as he worked. He would say, ‘Remember, the land gives, but you’ve got to meet it halfway. Just listen to the whispers in the wind, darling. They’ll show you the way.’

Alison took a deep breath. She heard the whispers.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Tell me what I have to do.’

Judy’s lips curled into something that was almost a smile, ‘I thought you’d say that.’