Leaf damage.
Number of insects found beneath boards.
Yield.
The Young Farm Man mocked the notebook for two days.
Then began contributing measurements.
At supper one night, he pointed with his fork.
“Row seven has fewer holes.”
“I know.”
“Row eight too.”
“I know.”
“Row twelve still bad.”
“I know.”
He stared.
“You enjoy saying that.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
The joke became theirs.
Outside the farm, laughter continued.
At the feed store:
“How are the seeing-eye ducks?”
At church:
“Do they need spectacles?”
At the blacksmith:
“You fitting canes to those birds?”
The Young Farm Man nearly fought someone once.
The Young Farm Woman stopped him.
“Every time you get angry, they get exactly what they came for.”
He looked toward her.
“What did they come for?”
“Proof that we’re embarrassed.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
She continued.
“I just don’t think embarrassment deserves management authority.”
He laughed.
That sentence stayed with him.
Then July turned hot.
Very hot.
Mountain snowmelt dropped.
Creek level fell.
Vegetables stressed.
Insects increased.
The first true warning came from the north end of the valley.
A farmer rode into town with potato leaves in his hand.
Half eaten.
He said beetles had covered an entire patch overnight.
People listened.
Nobody panicked.
Insect outbreaks came and went.
Then another farm reported the same.
Then three.
Dark beetles.
Thousands.
They gathered beneath leaves.
Chewed stems.
Stripped young plants.
One farmer said the ground seemed to move.
The Old Farmer heard.
He ordered powder from town.
Everybody did.
The store ran out.
A shipment was due in four days.
Four days could be a long time if insects multiplied.
The Young Farm Woman walked her field at dawn.
She found thirteen beetles.
Not thousands.
Still.
More than yesterday.
She carried them in a jar to the barn.
The ducks heard the scratching.
Several crowded toward her.
She dropped the beetles into a feeding pan.
Gone within seconds.
The Young Farm Man stared.
“That’s promising.”
“Yes.”
“How many could they eat?”
She looked toward the flock.
“No idea.”
That was the problem.
Sixty ducks sounded like many until compared to millions of insects.
The couple prepared anyway.
They installed temporary net fencing to direct the flock.
Cleared wide paths.
Set multiple water pans.
Changed feeding so the ducks remained slightly hungry during field time but never deprived.
The Young Farm Woman refused to starve them to increase hunting.
The Young Farm Man agreed.
They tested moving the flock rapidly.
Cup shake.
Gate.
Row.
Turn.
Water.
Return.
It worked.
Mostly.
One duck repeatedly went the wrong direction.
They named nothing.