In the dry years of the Dust Bowl, the land stops answering.
On a failing quarter section in southeastern Kansas, seven-year-old Warren learns the weight of an empty chair at the head of the table. His father has gone to the shrimp boats of Texas and does not return. What remains is the work, the debt, the thinning cattle, and a mother who must decide how much of her children's safety she is willing to trade for the ground beneath their feet.
When a second man takes the chair and the authority that goes with it, the days lengthen and the portions shrink. Dust fills the lungs of animals and children alike. The fence posts lean. The alfalfa fails. And Warren begins a private accounting that no one else can see: how much of himself the place intends to take, and how much he is willing to give before the giving becomes another kind of breaking.
Hardpan is a novel of attrition and endurance, of the quiet violence that scarcity makes ordinary, and of a boy who grows into the hard knowledge that staying whole may require leaving the only home he has ever known.