Green Thumb by James C. G. Shirk	Table of Contents part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5
part 3 of 5

The farm was located on university land, just a couple of miles from the agricultural school. Molly arrived fifteen minutes early, parked, and went inside the huge building. It always struck her that, from the outside, no one would guess the concrete-walled, glass-roofed structure contained a farm. She walked along the pebbled pathways, between the viscuene-enclosed experimental plots, until she reached the section where her experiment grew.

He arrived at exactly two o’clock, only he wasn’t alone. “Good afternoon, Molly, I’d like you to meet Dr. Hawthorne,” he said nodding at the tall, bearded, and impeccably dressed man standing next to him. Molly took the offered handshake and then looked quizzically at Professor Lewis. “Dr. Hawthorne is with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, and I’d like you to show him your experiment.”

“Sure,” she said cautiously. Molly had never heard of a student’s project being reviewed by anyone but university personnel, and it was unnerving to say the least. But, pushing her concern aside, she launched into a three-minute overview, explaining her use of a unique combination of nitrogen-application timing, CO2 concentration, temperature, and irrigation variations, to which Dr. Hawthorne merely nodded. He seemed impatient to see her results.

When she finished, Molly pulled back the sheeting, and they entered. Three rows of soybeans, twenty feet long, stretched in front of them. Smiling, she said, “So far, things seem to be working quite well.” That was an understatement. The soybeans were lushly green and obviously robust — large, luxurious leaves stretched out from sturdy stalks and pregnant pods, heavy with beans, hung from them.

“Been able to estimate yield potential yet?” Dr Hawthorne asked, not of Molly, but of Professor Lewis.

“We’re still a few weeks away, but based on the preliminary pod count, I’d say it will extrapolate to something over 180 bushels per acre.”

“That’s incredible,” Hawthorne replied, “I’ve never seen anything over 160, and that was before the... well, you know.”

Molly smiled in spite of herself. The good doctor, whoever he was, was impressed with her efforts. She knew her class work was just average, but she sure as hell could grow things. A moment later, Professor Lewis piped in.

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“What do you mean? What’s a problem?” she asked, suddenly defensive.

“Molly, there’s a problem with your experiment, but truthfully, I don’t know exactly what it is. We’ve taken samples of plant tissue and found no abnormal chemistry present — same thing for the soil. It’s a bit of a mystery.”

“I don’t understand,” Molly said. “What’s the big mystery? Isn’t it obvious that my experiment proves the combinations I used are the best for growing beans?”

Professor Lewis smiled sadly. “Let’s go up on the observation tower. I’ve been less than candid with you, I’m sorry to say, but I’ll explain on the way.”

As they made their way to the three-story tower, he told her that each year a student’s experiment was selected as a baseline to test against all the other experiments. The student was never told in order to keep that variable out of the results.

“You rigged my experiment?” Molly asked as they reached the stairs that wound to the top of the observation platform.

“That’s kind of strong, but yes, we did. You see, your experiment is hardly radical; the parameters and concentrations you used have been used before, and more than once. I guess to be kind,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “your advisor led you to choose the variables you did, because it’s the baseline we needed for this year’s crops.”

“Why me, and why did you need anyone? Couldn’t you have grown the baseline yourself?”

“Molly, I chose you because of your enthusiasm. I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated to botanical science; besides, there is one other thing that we always check.”

“Some favor,” she replied, dourly. “All my work was for nothing.” She stopped walking and looked at him. “What ‘other thing’ are you checking?”

He patted her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go up to the deck.”

They climbed the winding stairwell and opened the upper deck door. Above, unencumbered by the viscuene shadows of the experiments below, sunlight flooded the platform. Molly shielded her eyes as they made their way to the railing.

“Over the years, we’ve come to understand that, occasionally, there’s more than chemistry involved in plant growth,” Professor Lewis said. “In the past, students conducted this exact experiment and yet recorded yield differences that weren’t easily explained. We called it the ‘Green Thumb’ variable.” He chuckled before pointing below. ”Molly, tell me what you see down there.”

She looked — her experiment was easy to pick out. The lush, green leaves stood in sharp contrast to those in adjoining plots. To her, it only confirmed what she did was right. “It just proves my experiment is better than the other experiments in this section.”

“Except for one thing,” he replied.

“What’s that?”

“The plots around yours used exactly the same seeds, chemicals, and growing parameters that you did. They are identical. We wanted multiple baselines this year for our own reasons, and there they are — sitting side-by-side.”

Molly felt her heart flutter. At no time had she ever ‘asked’ the plants to grow for her, and she never would — she had made a promise, and she didn’t cheat. “Okay, so what if they are? That still doesn’t account for the extra time I spent. I was out here working on mine more than anyone else — you know that.”

The truth was that she spent far more time at the farm than anyone realized. It wasn’t that she just loved working on the university farm, she had to. Over the years, the energy burning inside her had intensified, and there was only one place she could work it off.

“More effort, better results, right?” she asked.

“If that’s all there was to it, I’d say yes.”

“What else is there?”

“Look closer. Observe the rows directly adjacent to your experiment in the other plots.”

Molly peered down. He was right! The rows in the other plots, directly next to hers, were also growing vigorously — not quite as lush but noticeably different than those furthest away from her plot. She turned to him. “What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But, we need to find out.”

* * *

Time slipped by rapidly for Molly after that day. She graduated, took a job as the professor’s assistant, and worked with undergraduate students on the university’s farm. In her spare time, and at Professor Lewis’s encouraging, she helped to conduct experiments with genetically-modified seeds that companies around the globe provided to the university. This led to a day, four years later, when she met Jori du Bourg, a French doctoral candidate working in Agricultural Sciences.

It took but a short time for her to fall madly in love with the tousle-haired, cinnamon-eyed, rangy scientist and his perfectly adorable accent. Over the course of the next year, they spent untold hours sipping wine, arguing the ethics of genetically-modified food, and making love in Molly’s loft apartment. The day he told her one of the meanings of his name meant “farmer” was the same day he proposed to her... and the same day she accepted.

A year later, Samantha was born, and they moved to a small farm just east of the university. Molly settled into child raising and working the farm, while Jori completed his doctorate and took a job at the school (replacing Professor Lewis who’d taken a position with the government). Unfortunately, the dark cloud, that seemed to follow Molly’s family life, visited again right before Samantha’s thirteenth birthday.

* * *

Proceed to part 4...

Copyright © 2009 by James C. G. Shirk