Chapter 10 - The Harvest Table
A year later, on the Fourth of July, the sun set over Lake Briar in golden hues of pink and orange.
There were no flashy investors, no velvet ropes, and no pretenses. The long farmhouse table was set once again on the cedar deck, laden with smoked brisket, fresh cornbread, and lanterns casting a warm glow over real friends: my lifelong neighbors, Arthur Vance, and local conservationists who shared a genuine love for the land.
Daniel sat at the far end of the table, wearing a plain work shirt, quietly helping serve food to the older neighbors and clearing plates with genuine humility.
I sat at the head of the table, holding a glass of iced tea, surrounded by people who respected the land, the history, and the woman who kept it all together.
May you like
Duke sat quietly by my side, resting his large head on my knee. I smiled, pulled a tender piece of brisket off my plate, and fed it to him directly from my hand.
The fireworks began to explode across the dark night sky over the water, lighting up the pristine, untouched shoreline of Briar Lake. I was home, secure, and surrounded by true peace—standing on land that was truly, irreversibly mine.
