Small is Possible. Lyle Estill

time I found myself at the Pittsboro Farmer’s Market without enough money to pay for my large bag of wares. I sheepishly turned to Screech, who was selling lettuce off the back of his truck, and he agreed to pay for my market run. He took the top off his coffee can and fished out twenty bucks.

      “Thanks, Screech — you know I’m good for it — at least this early in the month…”

      The day Julie threw in the towel on her and Leon’s hardware business, she called my cell phone. She was exiting the hardware business to open a florist shop a few blocks away, across from the County Jail.

      “The fire sale is on, Lyle, you go down to the store and pick out what you want and come talk.”

      I took the call on Hank’s Chapel Road, on a Sunday, while driving the Dodge pickup truck into town to do some work. I was glad to be in the truck, and glad for the diversion, so instead of swinging by Piedmont Biofuels Industrial, I headed for Julie’s abandoned hardware store.

      When I arrived I found Screech working in his greenhouse, which had long stood in Julie’s side yard. I was delighted to bump into him since I needed a tractor moved. He has a big diesel pickup, and a big trailer, both of which exceed my trailer moving capacity, so I started the conversation by seeing if he could move a tractor for me.

      He seemed demoralized. He was spraying bleach out of a spray bottle onto rough cut two by fours.

      After we came to terms on the tractor move I said, “What are you doing anyway?”

      At which point he launched into a long tale of woe. I knew he was an expert on greenhouses, and I knew he sold “rabbit food” at the farmer’s market, but I did not know his story.

      Screech is a heating and air conditioning man by day. He read a book once that said there was money to be made by growing hydroponic lettuce. He wondered about that. It caught his imagination so hard that he resurrected Julie’s greenhouse and gave it a try.

      The business went something like this: Check the plants in the morning on the way to work, check them again at night, and come in Saturday morning to move the plants around.

      Screech played the game for awhile, started producing some beautiful lettuce, took out a stall at the Pittsboro Farmer’s Market, and was off to the races. He developed some loyal customers, produced a miraculous product, and was well on his way to testing the book’s assertions that a profit could be had through this activity.

      It all looked like it was coming together, until the Town of Pittsboro passed by and sprayed herbicide in the ditch right next to his greenhouse. The intake fans on his greenhouse vacuumed up their poison and destroyed his crop. And his business.

      When I bumped into him he was starting over. That meant replacing every poisoned pipe, and trough, and spraying things down with bleach. He was not in high spirits.

      “Why don’t you move in with us, down at the biodiesel plant,” I said. “We have room for you, and we don’t spray.”

      “I can’t. Julie owns part of the greenhouse,” he said, dejectedly.

      At which point I drove down to the florist shop. Julie is a former model who used to appear in suntan oil ads. She is beautiful, and smart, and appears to have been in business all her life. When I showed up at her new florist shop I said, “I’ll take the greenhouse.”

      She smiled, and indicated that she could not sell that because of Screech, who was a co-owner. I explained that I would buy her share, and jump in with Screech and all that was involved in that.

      And I offered her a dollar.

      “Lyle, you know I love you, but this isn’t about love, this is about business. I have money in that greenhouse, and I need it back.”

      At which point I asked her how much she needed. To which she replied. To which I responded, to which she agreed.

      I left her florist shop, ran down to the instant teller, came back with a stack of twenty dollar bills, and became the proud owner of Julie’s share of Screech Owl Greenhouse.

      Screech wasted no time. He tore down his existing greenhouse and moved it over piece by piece to our biodiesel plant. He erected it — with some help from volunteers along the way — and he was back in business again, almost overnight.