Carl lifted a wooden crate onto the bed of his pickup, the heavy scrape against the metal tailgate filling the driveway.

Ben carried a green plastic water jug down row six, his new track shoes leaving waffle prints in the dirt between the rows of stalks.

“Drink some water, Ben,” Grace said, wiping her palms along her canvas apron.

Ben unscrewed the blue cap and handed the jug to Daisy first.

“How many crates are left in this row, Dad?” I asked.

“Four sitting by the pump house, and six more near the end post,” Carl said, shifting his shoulders under his blue work shirt.