He hated to be the first one to leave, the first generation not to work the family farm. He had no choice because farmers had to have another job to survive. There were no other jobs where he lived in West Virginia.
The last time the greenhouse had been active was when his grandfather worked it. HIs father died young and didn’t have the chance. Now, to survive, he had to go to the city. No remote work either.
He took a last look at the old greenhouse. For an instant, he saw it thriving, but then it was gone.
For Friday Fictioneers. Thanks, Rochelle!