“You can’t keep saying that.”
“Saying what?”
“He started it.”
Hannah resumed walking.
Jack followed.
“You can.”
She looked back.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t say it was mature.”
“Still counts.”
They reached the next row.
More ducks were working beneath the vines.
Hannah pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her denim shirt.
Jack noticed.
“You’re counting?”
“Baseline.”
“You already counted yesterday.”
“Yesterday before release.”
“What are you measuring?”
“Snail density at marked vines.”
Jack groaned.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“You’ve turned this place into a science project.”
“No.”
She pointed toward a blue ribbon tied to a trellis post.
“I turned six rows into a science project.”
Jack looked uphill.
“And the other twenty-six?”
“Controls.”
He stared at her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Jack shook his head.
Rain intensified.
Hannah crouched at the marked vine and carefully checked the wet grass.
The night before, she had counted fourteen visible snails within a meter of the trunk after dusk.
Now she found seven.
Then five.
Two were tucked against the trellis post.
One duck approached.
Hannah moved slightly backward.
The duck found both.
Jack watched.
Neither spoke.
The wind carried Calvin’s voice from uphill.
“Probably trained them with escargot!”
Hannah ignored him this time.
Jack did too.
At 7:15, the flock reached the fourth row.
Hannah used temporary mesh fencing to keep them from entering the youngest planting, where several vines were still too fragile for accidental trampling around the trunks.
That detail had been one of Jack’s objections in January.
“You expect birds to understand which vines cost me money?”
“No.”
“So they’ll damage them.”
“That’s why I’m using fencing.”
“Then I’ll have fencing everywhere.”
“Temporary fencing.”
“Still fencing.”
Jack hated fencing that was not part of a permanent system.
Hannah suspected he hated anything temporary because temporary things forced him to imagine a different future.
The vineyard had belonged to the Millers since 1984.
Jack’s parents bought it when land was cheaper and Oregon wine still sounded experimental to many Americans outside the state.
Walter Miller planted the first Pinot Noir block himself.
He kept handwritten harvest records.
Jack expanded acreage.
Improved drainage.
Added a small tasting room.
Survived the terrible wet harvest of 1997, the recession, smoke years, freezes, labor shortages, and more bank meetings than he admitted.
He had kept the farm alive by distrusting novelty.
That was how he understood it.
Hannah understood it differently.
Her father had survived by changing constantly.
He simply preferred changes that became old before he noticed them.
Drip irrigation had once been new.
Weather stations had been new.
Mechanical undervine cultivation had been new.
Modern disease forecasting had been new.
Jack now treated all of those tools as common sense.
Hannah had learned to wait.
She did not need him to like an idea immediately.
She needed him to look at results.
That was why she had spent four months preparing for this morning.
The duck plan began after she returned from a sustainable viticulture conference near Corvallis.
A speaker briefly mentioned integrated pest management systems in vineyards abroad, including ducks used under controlled conditions to reduce snails and insects.
Hannah came home excited.
Jack’s response had been immediate.
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“You said ducks.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I have a whole plan.”
“I don’t care.”
“Dad.”
“You want poultry in Pinot Noir.”
“For limited periods.”
“No.”
“Before fruit set.”
“No.”
“Under managed fencing.”
“No.”
Hannah waited.
Then asked, “Why?”
Jack said, “Because they’re ducks.”
That was not a reason.
Hannah knew better than to say so.
She researched.
Species.
Grazing behavior.
Risk to vines.
Water needs.
Predator protection.
Manure distribution.
Biosecurity.
Training.
Timing.