Pa, I know you'd never want to split up the farm.
I know that our family's held on to this land for so long. I know that your granddaddy's granddaddy bought it off a shifty guy they all called Crooked Jim. I know that Crooked Jim got shot here. (I know it wasn't any of our family who did it, though.) I know that your own momma got married here, and that your granddaddy built a little tiny chapel on part of the property for the occasion. I know that the chapel burned down three months later when a local boy knocked over a few candles. I know it was never rebuilt.
I know, too, the ins and outs of farming, Pa. I know why we need so much land and I know about rotation, soil fertility, topsoil, overgrazing. I know you were thinking about retiring. I know when Ma went you threw yourself right back into work. I know you have doubts about me taking over. I know why.
But Pa, I know farming like we do doesn't bring in as much money as it used to. I know the economy's bad. I know we're running in drought conditions. I know it'll continue that way.
Pa, I know you don't like the idea of developers here, but this town has real potential as a tourist site. I know tourists bring money. I know we really need money. I know the developers want to put in a hotel here. I know how much they'll pay.
Pa, I know you're stuck on the old ways, but the world is changing.
Pa, we really have a lot of land, we could sell a little.