Aaron did not answer immediately.
He watched Sophie carefully lower three tomatoes into a cardboard box.
“What I see,” he said, “is relevant to my inspection.”
Brent frowned.
“Relevant how?”
“I’ll need to review the ordinance.”
“It says agricultural use isn’t allowed.”
“It says unmaintained agricultural use may constitute a nuisance under certain conditions.”
Brent stared.
“That isn’t what I was told.”
Aaron’s voice remained polite.
“It’s what the ordinance says.”
Dad continued picking beans.
I began to understand why he had asked Aaron to come.
Not to embarrass Brent.
Not to prove he was charitable.
Dad wanted the inspector to see that the garden had a purpose.
But even then I did not understand all of it.
Around seven, the fog began to lift.
The garden changed beneath the rising light.
What had looked like tangled rows from the road became something orderly up close. Stakes had been repaired. Paths were mulched. Water barrels stood beneath gutters running from the shed. Every section had small wooden markers.
