Everything was ready to go. With another week or so of warm weather, the Hansons would be ready to start putting seed in the ground. They planned to seed as much of their 6,000 acres as they could get on to — anything that wasn’t still too wet after last year’s flood. The machinery had been checked, double-checked, and given one last once-over. The fertilizer was waiting in the bin, and the bags of seed were neatly stacked. There was nothing left to do but wait.
Nothing, that is, except take a half-section’s worth of canola seed back to the dealer.
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When Dale got to the shop, his son Jeff was just loading the last few 55-pound bags into the back of the pickup.
“Why didn’t you wait?” Dale asked. “I was coming out to give you a hand.”
“I needed to get out of the house and burn off a little extra energy,” Jeff said. “And I think you’ve already helped enough with this project.”
“I didn’t think this would happen,” his dad said defensively.
Jeff snorted. “Neither did I. When Elaine and I spent the last three months working on spreadsheets and pencilling in the extra returns we could get from renting two extra quarter sections, we never dreamed you hadn’t signed a rental contract.”
Jeff set the last bag of canola on the top of the load in the truck box. Dale picked up the pallet the bags had been sitting on and leaned it up against the wall.
“We’re just lucky I ran into Arlon Brown at the terminal,” Jeff said. “If he hadn’t happened to mention anything, this could’ve been really stupid. I can see it now. You out in the field with the Quadtrac when a truckload of Browns pull into the field. Jumping up and down, waving their arms, trying to get you and your tractor out of their field.”
“Well who would’ve dreamed some granola-eating vegetarian from Vancouver would throw over a friendship for a few extra bucks? I really thought we had a deal.”
Earlier that winter, Ed Hanson, Dale’s dad, had been drinking coffee in town at Wong’s Café when he’d heard that the half section of land two miles north of the Hanson’s yard was up for rent. The farmer who’d been renting it for the past three years had lost his nerve after the 2011 floods, and taken a job in the oilpatch.
As soon as Ed had finished his coffee refill, he’d headed out to the farm with the news. “Those quarters would fit in perfectly with this operation,” Ed said. “I always hoped we could get our hands on that land someday.”
The rest of the family had agreed. Dale had been confident and enthusiastic. The landowner was a woman he’d grown up with. Audrey Wilson had left the farm years ago, and the closest she’d been to the area since the early ’80s was Regina, where her mother had been retired until she’d died a few years ago.
“That Audrey was always a little nutty,” Dale had said. “Not surprised she landed up on the coast. But I’ll call her up right away. I’m sure she’ll rent the land to us.”
Jeff had been pleased. He and his wife Elaine had packed their toddler directly into his car seat and taken their SUV north to take a close look at the land. Then they’d gone back to their house immediately to start running the numbers, evaluating their per-acre fixed costs with a bigger land base, and trying to decide what they should seed on the “new” half section.
It was early April before Jeff and Elaine found out Audrey had rented the land to someone else.
When Jeff wanted to know how this possibly could have happened, Dale explained that he’d phoned his old friend Audrey. They’d talked about the land. Dale had even mentioned a price.
“But she didn’t definitely say she’d rent it to you?”
“She didn’t say she wouldn’t,” Dale said. “And Audrey’s always been a little vague, really.”
“Dad, if I’d had any idea you didn’t have a written contract…” Jeff shook his head.
Dale was defensive. “I never told you I had a written contract. You didn’t even ask. If you would’ve asked, I would’ve told you.”
“Who would’ve guessed I had to ask? When you do business, you sign a contract, Dad. It’s automatic.”
“I’ve known Audrey since we were kids on the school bus. I’m not going to ask for a contract. She’d have been insulted.”
“Well who’s insulted now?”
Dale hung his head. “Yeah. I guess money’s the trump card.”
“I guess she didn’t think the agreement was quite as firm as you did.”
“Hang on a minute,” Dale said. “It sounds like you’re not even mad at Audrey. You’re mad at me.”
“Not mad. Disappointed. Farming’s a business. Business runs on contracts these days. When I bought this canola you can bet Al didn’t just load it into my truck. He got me to sign a contract first. Al’s my friend, but when he sells seed, we’re doing business. I sign a contract.”
“Well what about the Browns?” Dale asked. “You must be mad at them.”
“The Browns? They saw some land for rent and called up with an offer. Maybe they knew you’d called, maybe they didn’t. But they did know enough to get a signed contract before they bought a bunch of seed.”
“They know that land is right by our yard. They must’ve known we’d want to rent it. Land is scarce around here these days. You don’t get many chances.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jeff said. “If we’re going to live here and be part of the community we have to be able to separate business from neighbours. Remember when you bought that old bulldozer at the Tanner Auction? Arlon Brown was standing next to you, bidding on the same piece of iron. You took it home. He never held a grudge.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
Dale didn’t have a good answer.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Dale muttered, turning around to straighten up things on the shop workbench that was already in perfect order. “When I was growing up, a person’s word was all you needed. You didn’t have to go around signing contracts for everything. Lawyers have us all trained so we’ll pay to let them run the whole damn world.”
“Could be,” Jeff said. “Look, Elaine and I’ve been talking. We’re going to spend some time networking this summer. See if we can figure out if any more land’s coming up for rent or sale around here anytime soon. Maybe we can get the jump on it next time.”
“Yeah,” Dale said. “Guess we could make a list of some people that might be thinking about renting. We might as well use our time for something useful, since we won’t have that extra 320 acres to look after. We’ll need something to do.”
“There’s something for you to do now,” Jeff said. “Take this load of canola back up to Yellow Grass. I’ll spend some time playing in the puddles with Elaine and our boy.” CG
