In the early days in that country they grew a blue oat because that was the seed that the Floyd brothers brought with them. The blue oat was hardy against rust, but there was no rust and soon oats that had higher yields took over the fields along the foothills.
As the country developed and farm lands expanded the familiar diseases of the east began to encroach.
A few rust outbreaks appeared, but yields were good enough. Farmers still worked with horses and mules. They needed to grow oats.
At the Red Creek Grange some of the old timers were sitting around eating pie and drinking coffee and talking about everything in particular.
Branch Floyd was remembering the good old rust resistant blue oat his dad used to grow.
``Now you didn't get the yield,'' he said, ``but you knew you'd get a fair crop if the rain came right.''
``So its all gone - there's none growing around here?'' a kid asked.
``None that I know.''
A young man named Caleb Smith didn't say anything. He thought he knew where a few blue oats were still growing. Behind his barn.
The next summer he collected a handful of oats and replanted them. The following year he had a few pounds of seed. He put it in a box on his kitchen shelf.
Years later the extension people started a search for blue oat seed. They wanted its rust resistant genes.
Caleb Smith was getting incoherent by then.
``I believe I might have some,'' he said. Branch Floyd's son Brett went with Caleb to his house and Caleb got the box down off the kitchen shelf.
Brett saw the hole in the box.
When Caleb opened it it was empty except for a few black grains of mouse shit.