“And functional.” Mitch smiled and tapped the far right and left sections of the plan. “This plan incorporates a third lane into downtown Peach Grove, which will be designated for turning, and the two roundabouts Mrs. Markham mentioned at our last meeting—one at each end of the city.”
Stephanie stood up, put on a pair of reading glasses, and bent closer. “Is that a fountain in the middle there?”
“Yes,” Kristen said. “There would be one in the center of each roundabout, and it could be dedicated to anyone we, as a community, choose—such as veterans or current service members. And there’d be no limit to the landscaping designs we could create around them. And if you look here”—she directed their attention to the large green areas framing the roads connecting to the circular roundabout—“you’ll see we’ve integrated additional landscaping areas. Those are big enough to plant trees in a loved one’s memory. It would be an excellent way to involve lifelong members of the community and make them feel as though they are an essential part of Peach Grove and Adams County.”
“We’ve also included additional streetscaping that holds great aesthetic appeal,” Mitch said. “One of the things I believe we all feel passionately about is providing a safe, welcoming downtown for everyone. It was with that in mind that we included a bike lane, pedestrian walkways, and attractive lighting. We also made room for HAWK lights at regular intervals.”
“What are those?” Jenny asked.
“They’re devices used to control traffic lights and allow pedestrians to cross more safely and conveniently. When you push a button, the traffic light will change, and you’ll be able to cross the road with ease.”
“That would help our students in the mornings and afternoons.” Elena smiled. “And I wouldn’t mind having a bike lane.” She laughed. “It’s been years since I’ve dusted off my ten-speed and taken a ride. If this plan looks as good in real life, I think I’d be tempted to do it more often.”
“Which is part of the reason why we feel it’s so important to include as many aesthetically pleasing elements as possible.” Kristen looked at Terrance. “The more people we can entice out of their homes and cars to mill about downtown and socialize, the more—”
“Customers we’ll have,” Terrance said, finishing for her, flashing a smile. “Now I can go for that right there. The more feet on the street, the more change in my pocket.”
“But the trucks,” Bud said, standing. “What will this do to help with the speed of those semis, the congestion, and the noise?”
“Roundabouts are designed to slow through traffic without forcing vehicles to stop. They should take care of the speed and congestion issues,” Kristen said. “The noise, I’m afraid, will still be there, which is why we’re proposing one more significant change.”
She stepped back and glanced at Mitch. He retrieved another rolled canvas from the bag at his feet, placed it on the table, and unrolled it.
A small cry escaped Emmy, and bracing her hands on the table, she pushed to a standing position. Her frail arms shook slightly as she leaned over the canvas.
In the center of this second hand-painted architectural plan, two large oaks with low, thick branches framed a white house, complete with two red brick chimneys, a front porch with Gothic trim, and a stained-glass window, which glinted beneath the bright flashes of fireworks above in a starry night sky. Wide fields full of lush green soybean plants, strawberry patches, and cornstalks surrounded the house, and a red dirt driveway wound through the picturesque landscape, with brightly painted gourds hanging from racks on both sides. Cars, trucks, and SUVs were parked head to tail all the way to the road, and the aerial depiction showed dozens and dozens of groups of people sitting on blankets or on the lowered tailgates of pick-up trucks, admiring the pyrotechnic display above.
“It’s my house,” Emmy said. Her eyes brightened and a pleased look appeared on her face as she pointed at the line of cars. “What’s happening here?”
“Look at the end of the driveway.” Grinning, Mitch pointed at a rustic white sign with red lettering. “What does it say?”
Emmy peered closer, clucked her tongue, and shook her head. “Lord, have mercy. Ain’t nothing more aggravating than a pair of tired eyes.”
“Here, Emmy.” Laughing, Stephanie took off her reading glasses and held them out.
“Thanks.” Emmy took them, put them on, then looked again and read out loud, “Hart’s Hollow Farm. Family owned and operated. All welcome!” Her smile grew as she touched the small, elegant script with her forefinger and traced the delicate vine and strawberries surrounding the wording. She turned to Kristen, tears spilling over her lashes. “You did this?”
Kristen swallowed hard past the thick lump in her throat, the grateful adoration in Emmy’s gaze flooding her own eyes with tears. “Yes. The new sign is finished and in the shed, ready to hang.”
“But the fireworks . . .” Emmy spread her hands. “And the cars?”
“You have so much to offer, Emmy.” Kristen returned her gaze to the table and gestured toward different areas of the hand-painted architectural plan. “The farm would become the hub of community events. Corn mazes, apple bobbing, and hayrides could be offered in the fall. A tour of Christmas lights, caroling, and your homemade treats in the winter. Spring would be a perfect time for strawberry picking, eating contests, and pie walks. And summer—”
Her throat tightened at the surge of pleasant memories that flooded her: driving the tractor and planting the fields with Mitch, renovating the porch and laughing as Dylan and Zach played makeshift hockey across the floor, running through cornfields with Sadie and making strawberry shortcakes with Emmy and Ruth Ann.
All wonderful things she’d soon leave behind.
Kristen collected herself and tried again. “Summer would be a time for fishing, stargazing, and fireworks in July. We’ve already planned Hart’s Hollow Farm’s first event.” She faced the committee members. “We’d like to invite all of you to Emmy’s first Fourth of July celebration this Friday. She’ll have food, games, and fireworks.”
“We ask only that you hold off on making a decision regarding the bypass until you’ve attended the event,” Mitch added. “I’ll pass around details in a moment, and you’re welcome to contribute in whatever way you’d like—be it a booth to promote your business, a stand to display your crafts, or a table to share your own homemade dishes for others to enjoy. We want you to see the sense of community and collaboration this type of operation can bring. How a small local farm can attract local residents and tourists, while strengthening our community and downtown businesses.”
“Like the day we picked strawberries,” Elena said softly. “That was a lovely afternoon, Emmy. Your home is beautiful, and you made us all feel so valued and welcome.”
Emmy ducked her head, her mouth trembling around a smile.
“Friday. Don’t forget,” Mitch reminded them, glancing at the project managers. “We look forward to having you all as our guests for the day. After that, we’ll accept whatever decision is made.”
Soon after, Dana adjourned the meeting. There was a bustle of movement as everyone took a last look at each of the plans, asked questions about Friday’s event, said their good-byes, then left.