Snail density.
Labor time.
Feed cost.
Housing cost.
Predator fencing.
Temporary fence cost.
Duck mortality so far: zero.
Brian raised a hand.
“What about chemical savings?”
Hannah showed the estimate.
Good.
Not enormous.
The biggest benefit was avoiding an emergency treatment window when supplies were tight.
She emphasized that.
A grower asked, “Would you do it without the shortage?”
“Yes.”
Jack looked at her.
That was new.
Hannah continued.
“But maybe on fewer rows first.”
Jack nodded.
That was more like it.
The system grew through summer.
Ducks were removed before fruit became vulnerable.
Hannah never allowed them near ripening grapes.
She adjusted flock size.
Sold twelve birds to another farmer.
Kept the rest.
Forklift remained.
Of course.
The spring crop recovered.
Not perfectly.
No season did.
The Millers still fought mildew pressure.
A tractor hydraulic line failed at the worst possible time.
Labor costs hurt.
Rain returned during flowering.
But the snail crisis passed.
By harvest, the lower Pinot block produced slightly below the five-year average but better than Jack had feared in April.
Fruit quality was excellent.
The duck-treated areas showed no meaningful negative effect in soil tests beyond small nutrient variation near initial release points, which Hannah corrected through rotation.
The financial numbers surprised Jack.
He sat at the kitchen table in November.
Hannah opened a spreadsheet.
“This is gross savings.”
Jack looked.
“Not huge.”
“No.”
“Then why is everybody acting like we invented agriculture?”
“Because ducks are funny.”
Jack laughed.
Hannah continued.
“Direct product savings were moderate. Main value was timing.”
“We didn’t lose shoot growth.”
“Exactly.”
“If the treatment had been available?”
“We probably would have spent more directly but less labor.”
“So ducks cost labor.”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep them?”
Hannah changed the screen.
“Second-year projection.”
Jack read.
Duck purchase cost fell dramatically because they already owned the flock.
Housing sunk cost.
Training lower.
Labor more efficient.
Egg sales unexpectedly offset feed.
Jack looked up.
“Eggs?”
Hannah smiled.
“The tasting room sold out every weekend.”
“When did we start selling eggs?”
“Mom.”
Jack called toward the living room.
“Linda!”
His wife shouted back.
“What?”
“You’re running a poultry business?”
“Apparently!”
Jack closed his eyes.
Hannah laughed.
The next season, they released only fifty-six ducks into the vineyard.
Jack objected.
“Why fewer?”
“Because eighty was more than we needed once we understood movement patterns.”
“You spent months defending eighty.”
“Because eighty was what I had.”
“That is not science.”
“No.”
She grinned.
“That’s farming.”
Jack hated how much he liked that answer.
Years passed.
The duck system became part of Miller Vineyard management.
Not the entire identity.
Hannah refused that.
A magazine once called and asked to photograph “the famous duck vineyard.”
She declined initially.
Jack convinced her to agree.
“Free advertising.”
“I don’t want people thinking ducks are all we do.”
Jack looked around.
“You think people come here because they understand canopy management?”
Hannah frowned.
“They should.”
“They don’t.”
The article brought visitors.
Children loved the ducks.
Adults asked serious questions.
Hannah created scheduled demonstrations so tourists did not interfere with vineyard work.
Forklift became the unofficial star.
Jack pretended not to know why visitors kept asking about him.
At thirty-one, Hannah became vineyard operations director.
Jack resisted the title.
“You already run operations.”
“Exactly.”