“We rotate.”
“They still need rest.”
“Then what?”
She looked toward the crowd.
An idea formed.
Not pleasant.
Not easy.
But possible.
“We don’t take the ducks everywhere.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“We bring the farmers here.”
The Old Farmer, nearby, overheard.
“Bring what?”
“Insects.”
The men stared.
The Young Farm Woman explained.
Collect beetles mechanically.
Sheets under plants.
Shake.
Sweep.
Buckets with slick sides.
Bring them.
Feed ducks here.
That would not eliminate infestation.
But reduce adults.
Fewer adults meant fewer eggs.
Less pressure.
Farmers could combine collection with other controls.
It was not a miracle.
It might help.
The Old Farmer nodded slowly.
“How many can these birds eat?”
“Still don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
That became the strangest operation the valley had ever seen.
Every morning, farmers collected beetles.
Buckets arrived.
The Young Couple weighed them.
The ducks fed in controlled batches.
Not unlimited.
The Woman watched for signs of overfeeding.
She continued normal grain, minerals, water.
No one relied exclusively on insects.
She asked the town veterinarian for advice.
He thought she was insane.
Then visited.
Watched.
Took notes.
He warned about diet balance.
She listened.
The ducks became famous.
Children came.
The couple banned spectators during feeding.
Too stressful.
Farmers who had mocked now followed rules posted on the barn.
NO MOLDY VEGETATION.
NO CHEMICAL-TREATED INSECTS.
NO UNKNOWN SUBSTANCES.
BUCKETS MUST BE LABELED BY FARM.
The Old Farmer helped enforce them.
That amused the Young Farm Man greatly.
One afternoon, a neighbor brought beetles collected after spraying.
The Old Farmer stopped him at the gate.
“You trying to poison the flock?”
The neighbor protested.
“They’re just bugs.”
The Old Farmer pointed down the road.
“Take them back.”
The Young Farm Woman heard from the barn.
She smiled.
People change strangely.
Not through speeches.
Through responsibilities.
The beetle outbreak lasted eighteen days.
Some farms lost heavily.
Others moderately.
No farm escaped entirely.
The Young Couple’s vegetables suffered less than most.
The Old Farmer’s potato field lost twenty-two percent of foliage.
Bad.
Not disastrous.
He credited the ducks publicly.
That surprised everyone.
At the feed store, someone asked:
“So you were wrong?”
The Old Farmer answered:
“Completely.”
People laughed.
He added:
“They’re still ugly birds.”
The Young Farm Woman, standing two aisles away, threw a bag of twine at him.
He caught it.
Everyone laughed harder.
Then the first plot twist arrived.
The veterinarian had been watching the flock.
Not just their feeding.
Their behavior.
He visited one evening carrying notes.
The Young Couple sat near the barn.