Clunk! Scccrraaap! My name is Emalee Harvest, and my family owns the most prestigious farm in Cornville, United Kingdom: Harvest National, also known by our official name, Conifer United, because our land once belonged to the grand Conifer Estate. I am ten years old, the second oldest of the five kids in the family. The oldest is my brother, Ethan, who is fourteen. The other three kids in my family are Elizabeth, age eight, Elliott, age seven, and Evana, age six and a half.

Elizabeth and I are to remove weeds from the corn and other plants. My daddy, Ezio Harvest, is teaching Ethan how to ride a tractor, while my mama, Elysia Harvest, is teaching Evana how to crochet in our large, cozy, and warm living room. Elliott was in the fields checking the irrigation pipes.

You may surmise that because we have a farm, we live in a cabin like others. But no–we live in a castle!
Just kidding—we live in a mansion, not a castle. That’s where Cornville’s king and queen live. This is what is special about Cornville: everyone lives in luxury.

Cornville is known for its large production of corn. We make up about 85.3 percent of the world’s corn. That’s a LOT.

Pluck! I just pulled out a weed, and it had some seed connected to it in a spiky shell. I gasped as I realized what those were. Pinagon Pricklies! They are a type of wildberry that grows from roots, with the pigment of dragon fruits and the spikes of a pineapple. They taste like candy and dreams, and are super rare to find. When you eat them, they give you the feeling of apricity. This was serendipity to find, and I couldn’t wait to tell Mama and Dad.

“Eliza!” I called.

“Eliza?” I called, doubting that she was even there.
“Elizabeth!” I called again.

“Elizabeth Taylor Harvest! You alive?” I asked, exasperated.

“Yep! Alive and well! What do you want?” said Elizabeth, in her mellifluous and euphonious voice. I guess I really ruffled her feathers when I asked if she was alive.

“I found a Pinagon Prickly!”

“COOL!” she said.
She came over with all the other weeds she had removed. Each had a Pinagon Prickly attached to it.

Ba-da-ba-da-da-daa! Tantara ta!

Elizabeth and I turned to look at each other, our eyes glowing with glee. That sound only meant one thing: King Leoric and Queen Saphira were here.

We quickly ran over to hear the conversation, hiding behind a mulberry bush. Their shiny pink and blue carriage was there, pulled by many white horses. We peeked discreetly so no one would see us. We knew that Mama and Daddy would tell us anyway, but it was rare to see the king and queen at our house.

Queen Saphira was wearing a sapphire-colored gown with a gemstone hem, regal heels, and her brown hair streaked with blue. She was wearing a lot of sapphire jewelry.

King Leoric was wearing his usual pink robe and a gold suit, with his crown high on his head.

“Dear Ezio and Elysia Harvest. We wanted to inform you that a new business here has opened. It is a bee-oh-fee-you–luh, namely ethanol,” said King Leoric.

“It’s by-oh-fewl, dear. We would like you to tell us how you are going to use your corn this year. So, what will it be: food or ethanol?” said Queen Saphira.

Mama and Daddy glanced at each other, talking with their eyes.

“Can you give us a week?” asked Mama.

“Fine. We’ll give you until October third to decide. Until next time, Harvests,” said King Leoric, hopping back into the carriage, then helping Queen Saphira back inside.

As the carriage left, Mama sighed.
“Ezio, how will we make a decision in five days if we don’t know anything about this biofuel ethanol?” she asked, carefully repeating Queen Saphira’s delicate pronunciation.

The Problem Gets Bigger

Two days later, things became even more confusing.

We were almost done harvesting the corn, and now over half of the cornfield’s stalks looked bare. That was when my parents received a letter from a newly opened ethanol industry only 5.8 miles away. They said we would be blessed if we donated our corn to ethanol production.

We weren’t sure if our corn going into ethanol instead of food was a great idea.

Ding-Dong!

I scrambled to the door and looked through the peephole. Five people were standing outside—two in lab coats, three holding clipboards.

“Mom! Some people are at the door!” I yelled.

My parents scurried over and sighed.

“Uhhhh,” said Dad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Those people with the lab coats are here to persuade us into using our corn for food, and the others are here to sway us over to ethanol production. We have no choice but to open the door,” said Mom.

We opened the door, and before they could open their mouths, we said, “Lock it UP!”

They nodded politely and sat in our den. We told them that they should not argue and that only one person would be talking at once. The morning went pretty well, and the people told us they were scientists and researchers. Their reasons for their side of the problem were convincing, but we still needed more time.

It was 9:00 p.m. when they left, but at least we knew more about ethanol. Before bed, I wrote on a piece of paper the pros and cons of contributing our corn to ethanol production. Ethanol was a biofuel and reduced carbon emissions and was good for the environment, the scientists had said. On the other hand, the researchers had said that ethanol really did pose a threat to the environment and that there would be food shortages in the future.

When I reviewed the list, I knew what we should pick. I would tell Mom and Dad in the morning.

The Decision

“Mom! Dad!” I said, bouncing on their bed. It was morning, and the night had gone as celeritously and mercurially as it had arrived.

“I think we should choose to use our corn for food,” I said as soon as they were awake.

“Why, dear?” asked Mom.

“Ethanol has too many cons, and it’s not worth the risk. Ethanol isn’t that great for the environment. It uses too much water and fertilizer, and it damages the soil. It eliminates the key nutrients from the soil. If we choose ethanol even only one time, it can destroy our future. Like what you always say, Dad: ‘A price too heavy is a burden to carry.’”

“That’s my girl!” said Dad. “Let’s send them a letter and tell them what we picked.”

So we wrote a letter saying what we picked, why we chose it, and that we are always going to use our corn for food. Three days later, they replied, telling us no hard feelings and that they completely understood.

Now our ethanol-vs.-food problem was solved. But it’s still a problem everywhere else. I hope that those people can navigate their way through and understand that—

ETHANOL IS NOT THE SOLUTION!

The End