Hester Pruitt's Cloud Farm
They say that in the dry valley of Parch Hollow, Hester Pruitt grew clouds the way other farmers grow corn. Every spring she planted a handful of fog seeds in a long straight row, and by June the sky above her fence was crowded with fat, fluffy clouds. Some were so thick that she sheared them like sheep and stuffed the wool into pillows.
Her neighbors thought she was out of her mind until the summer of the long drought. Every field in the valley turned brown, and every well went low. Hester walked out to her pasture, whistled twice, and the whole herd of clouds came drifting over the fence.
That was when the trouble started. Hester had never fed them anything but morning mist, and a hungry cloud is a grumpy cloud. They all rained at once on the Hendersons' tomato patch, and the tomatoes floated away down the road. Meanwhile, the next farm over stayed as dry as a cracker.
Hester scratched her chin. Then she got out a long stick and a loud bell and went to work like a shepherd. She herded one cloud over each farm, and she gave every cloud a small ration of mist so it would drizzle gently instead of pouring.
By September, the valley was green again. Folks still tell the story, and they still say that if you hear a bell ringing in the sky on a summer evening, it is only Hester, keeping her herd in line.