The next morning, a flatbed truck passed carrying steel beams, its engine loud enough to rattle the windows. He watched it disappear beyond the ridge and told himself it was nothing, just roadwork or another farm changing hands.
But the traffic didn’t stop. Every day brought something new: dump trucks, graders, fuel tanks, even a portable office dropped off on the far end of the field. Men in reflective vests came and went, shouting instructions, pointing at blueprints, dragging survey tape that fluttered in the wind.