“Backup?”
“Diesel.”
“Tanks?”
“Full.”
The Older Farmer’s expression changed.
“What pumps?”
Neither answered immediately.
The Extension Specialist followed the irrigation tubing running between rows.
He saw the temperature probes.
Then the wet-bulb sensors.
Then he noticed the large tanks positioned on higher ground behind the barn.
“You built all of this?”
The Young Farmer nodded.
“With help.”
“How many acres can you cover?”
“Twelve continuously.”
“Six intermittently.”
The Extension Specialist looked impressed.
The Older Farmer stepped closer.
“What exactly are you doing?”
The Young Farmer stood.
“Preparing.”
“For frost?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward his own orchard.
Dark trunks.
Dry ground.
No probes.
No lines running where he needed them.
His regular irrigation system existed, but parts of it had not been pressure-tested since summer.
“You believe it’s really going that low?”
The Extension Specialist turned his tablet around.
The map showed the valley shaded in increasingly dangerous colors.
“It already is north of us.”
The Older Farmer stopped talking.
For the first time that afternoon, nobody laughed.
The Young Farmer walked toward the next row.
The Older Farmer called after her.
“If I wanted to set something up tonight, how long?”
She stopped.
The Extension Specialist answered first.
“For six hundred acres?”
He looked at the sun.
“Too long.”
The Older Farmer stared at him.
“There has to be something.”
“Run whatever frost protection you already have.”
“Irrigation.”
“Test it now.”
“My manager did last year.”
“Test it now.”
The Older Farmer looked irritated.
“I know my equipment.”
The Young Farmer continued walking.
The Extension Specialist followed her.
The Older Farmer remained beside the truck, watching the white orchard.
By sunset, the temperature had fallen twelve degrees.
The Young Farmer did not go inside for dinner.
She ate half a sandwich standing beside the pump house.
Her small crew worked through the rows.
There were only four of them.
One neighbor’s teenage son who worked weekends.
A retired irrigation technician who had known her father.
A local farmhand who divided his time between two orchards.
And the Young Farmer herself.
They checked nozzles.
Cleared two clogged filters.
Fueled the backup pump.
Placed portable heaters where vulnerable pipes crossed exposed ground.
The Young Farmer checked every sensor twice.
Then she checked them again.
At seven-thirty, a pickup entered the lane.
The Older Farmer stepped out.
Alone this time.
He did not laugh.
“What are you spraying?”
The Young Farmer looked toward him.
“Nothing yet.”
“What are those lines?”
“Micro-sprinklers in the lower blocks.”
“You’re going to wet the trees in a freeze?”
“Yes.”
“That’ll coat them in ice.”
“If conditions are right.”
“And that helps?”
“If water freezes continuously, the phase change releases heat.”
He looked unconvinced.