“Oats tolerate more moisture than other small grains,” he explained, his voice deep and unhurried like the land itself, “but they’re not suited for poorly drained or saturated ground. To maximize yields, we sow oats early in the spring, typically between April first and May first. Spring oats are a cool season crop that can handle cold soil and even light frosts. We planted the oats right before you arrived, and we’ll harvest them, mid-August to mid-September.”
“How do you plant that?” She adjusted her grip on the reins.
“We use a grain drill.” His hand gestured toward the distant barn where equipment was stored.
“I don’t know what that is.” The admission made her feel like a city slicker, out of place in this rural paradise.
“It’s a specialized agricultural machine that mechanically plants seed at a consistent depth and spacing. Farmers in Montana use drills to sow oats, often using a no-till or direct-drilling method that minimizes soil disturbance. They have hoppers to hold the oats and a system of tubes that deliver the seeds into furrows created by disc openers, which are then closed by press wheels for proper seed-to-soil contact.”
“Why didn’t you plant the corn at the same time?” She noticed a hawk circling lazily overhead, its wingspan impressive against the cloudless sky.
Seth sighed, removing his hat to rake his fingers through his hair, then put it back on his head. “Farmers may choose specific cold-hardy varieties to plant earlier in May or even late April in some areas.I won’t plant until I’m sure the temperature is above freezing. In Montana, cold-variety corn for livestock feed is typically harvested for silage inlate August through September, before the first killing frost. The exact timing depends on the specific corn variety and the desired moisture content for storage. Ready?”
“Yes. Lead the way.” She felt a flutter of excitement at capturing more of this beautiful land through her lens.
“It’s just over the next rise.” He pointed toward a gentle slope in the distance, where the land seemed to melt into the horizon.
Ryan nodded, then followed him along the path until they came into a large open field where she saw small plants growing in neat, precise rows like green stitches on the earth’s brown fabric. She lifted the camera and snapped photos; the mechanical clicks a stark contrast to the natural sounds around them. It was a good thing she could take photos with one hand because she still wasn’t really sure about letting go of the saddle or reins, the horse’s rhythmic movements beneath her still foreign and unpredictable.
“How long does it take to grow to where you can harvest it?” She watched a butterfly dance between the tender shoots.
“Seedlings will emerge in eight to ten days under ideal conditions,” he said, “including daytime temperatures of sixty to seventy and nights around forty. The entire growth cycle for spring oats generally lasts between eighty and one hundred ten days.”
“I suppose, like me, most people don’t even think of how much goes into the planting.” She gazed across the field, suddenly appreciative of the complex dance between farmer and nature that produced something as simple as livestock feed.
“Right. Not only for human consumption, but livestock.” Seth’s voice carried across the dusty trail as the sun cast long shadows from the pines.
“Have you been contacted by the magazine about a writer coming?” Ryan adjusted her hat, shielding her eyes from the glare.
“Yeah, he should be here Monday, I believe. If it is a he.” Seth’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.
“Very funny. Do you know his name?” She shifted in her saddle, leather creaking beneath her.
“Sean Hayes.”
“Shit,” she muttered, feeling her face suddenly drain of color.
Seth pulled on his reins, his horse whinnying softly as he turned in the saddle, his brow furrowed. “Why did you say that?”
Ryan sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Sean and I don’t get along. We have a... history.”
“So, you slept together.” His voice was flat, matter of fact.
“Foolishly, I thought I was in love, and he lusted after every woman working at the magazine.” She shook her head, a strand of hair escaping her ponytail.
“Wonderful.” Seth’s jaw tightened as he looked away toward the distant mountains.
“It won’t be a problem. I’ll just ignore the prick like I always do.” Her knuckles whitened around the reins.
“How long ago was this?”
“Almost two years now, but he’s...” She shook her head, eyes darkening. “Never mind. I promise you; it will not be a problem for me.”
“What about him?” Seth’s horse pawed impatiently, sending small clouds of dust swirling around its hooves.
“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s just a good thing you don’t have any women working for you because he’d go after them like a tomcat in heat. He walks around like his dick touches theground,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. Seth’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, his gloved hands tightening on the worn leather reins. “Trust me. The reality is not even close.” She shook her head, her dark hair catching the light as her lips curled into a sardonic smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He couldn’t find his way around a woman using GPS and a search party,” she added. Seth’s laughter echoed against the cool air that carried the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.
****
