The difference was visible.
Still, Megan remained cautious.
“One day isn’t enough.”
Hannah nodded.
“Agreed.”
Jack asked, “How many days?”
“Depends what question you’re asking.”
Jack groaned.
Megan smiled.
“If the question is whether ducks can eat snails here, you already know.”
“They can.”
“Yes.”
“If the question is whether they reduce economic damage enough to replace or supplement chemical control across the season, that takes longer.”
Jack nodded.
That answer he understood.
Farm decisions rarely offered complete proof.
They offered enough evidence for the next decision.
At 2:06, the wind picked up.
Hannah stopped the flock early.
Several spectators protested.
She ignored them.
Dark clouds had formed over the western ridge.
The farm weather station showed rapidly falling pressure.
Jack looked at the data.
“You’re right.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow.
“Could you repeat that?”
“No.”
“I didn’t hear.”
“You’ll never hear it again.”
Together they guided the flock home.
The ducks resisted.
Apparently the vineyard had become more interesting than their enclosure.
Forklift escaped again.
Jack caught it this time.
He held the duck beneath one arm.
Hannah stared.
Jack said, “Not one word.”
“You’re holding Forklift.”
“Not one.”
Forklift quacked.
Hannah laughed.
At 2:41, the last gate closed.
At 3:07, the storm arrived.
Heavy rain hammered the metal roofs.
Wind bent the young maple beside the tasting room.
Water rushed through vineyard drainage channels.
Jack stood inside the equipment shed watching.
Hannah joined him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
She leaned against the wall.
He continued.
“If these storms keep stacking up, disease pressure is going to explode.”
“I know.”
“Spray window tomorrow morning might disappear.”
“I know.”
“Road in the lower block is already soft.”
“I know.”
Jack looked at her.
“You always say you know.”
“Would you prefer surprise?”
He almost smiled.
Then looked toward the duck enclosure.
“They’re fine?”
“Dry enough.”
“Enough?”
“They’re ducks, Dad.”
He gave her a look.
She laughed.
That evening Hannah checked the vine rows after rain intensity dropped.
The treated rows showed dramatically fewer visible snails.
The control row remained heavily populated.
She photographed both.
Recorded conditions.
Marked time.
No obvious vine damage from ducks.
Some manure accumulation near the lane entrance.
Manageable.
She wrote:
Day 1 result: strong snail predation observed. No significant vine damage visible. Distribution uneven near release point. Need shorter holding time at gate.
Jack stood behind her.
“What’s your conclusion?”
“Continue tomorrow.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s enough.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
The following morning, Jack was awake before Hannah.
At 5:48, she walked toward the duck pen.
He was already there.
Her father stood in rain pants holding the white feed bucket.
Hannah stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For?”
“The ducks.”
She looked around.
“You stole my bucket.”
“It’s a bucket.”
“It’s my duck bucket.”
Jack sighed.
“Hannah.”
She smiled.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say what?”
“That you like them.”
“I absolutely do not like them.”
Forklift waddled toward him.
Jack dropped a small handful of feed.
Hannah stared.
“Traitor.”
Jack pointed at the duck.
“He was bothering me.”