Beckett always looked forward to the annual meeting of the Hazelnut Growers’ Association. He hadn’t been to one in more than five years, and he’d gone to the last one because his father didn’t see the point. But there was always pertinent information presented, so Beck went instead, despite his father’s insistence that it was a waste of time. This year he was attending as the owner and operator of Shaw Farms, and that felt good.
The meeting was in Mount Angel. The town was much smaller than Newberg—less than four thousand people—and it had a charm all its own. It was the kind of place they could film movies in. It had the perfect small-town-America feel. He drove slowly through the town center, not only because of the low speed limit, but also to take in the attractive buildings with thei
