Wade instructed them not to scrape the ground bare around the trunks. The fine roots lay closer to the surface than Nora expected, and the orchard had been neglected long enough that every living piece deserved a little caution. They cleared walking areas and collection spots, leaving the soil beneath the healthiest trees protected by leaf litter where possible.
At the old irrigation riser, Nora tested the line with a plumber Lee recommended. Most of the buried system was beyond economical repair, and several fittings had corroded until they crumbled under a wrench. Yet one section could still carry water from a temporary hookup without leaking badly. They repaired that portion first, enough to help the trees most likely to benefit, and marked the rest for later decisions.
"This orchard is going to be a series of things we don't fix," Tess said as she entered the plumbing invoice.
"A series of things we choose when to fix," Nora corrected.
"Same book, different column."
Nora had counted on the goats to buy her time, and they had. But every discovery revealed another form of responsibility: the access lane needed maintenance, the trees needed assessment, the water system needed repairs, and the herd still needed feed and safe fencing. Owning thirty-eight acres did not mean she had gained thirty-eight acres of usable pasture. It meant she had gained the right to decide which problems to solve first.
Wade brought a small crew and mechanical shaker when the promising trees were ready. The first machine to enter the restored lane moved so slowly that Nora walked alongside it, watching every turn. At the orchard, Wade positioned it carefully around the trunks he considered sound enough for testing. They spread collection material where the ground allowed and used hand tools in the tighter spaces.
The first shake sent a scattered patter of pecans against the collection surface. Nora felt a rush of excitement when she heard them hit. For a moment she saw bags of nuts stacked in the barn, a small roadside stand, perhaps orders that would pay for winter feed and the county taxes. Then Wade stopped the machine and examined what had fallen.
Some shells were poorly filled. Some had dark spots. A few held kernels that were narrow and dry where they should have been firm. Nora cracked one open and looked at the contents, trying to reconcile them with the beautiful canopy above her.
"That tree's still carrying years of neglect," Wade said. "It has to rebuild more than one season of growth. And pecans can bear unevenly even when they're well cared for. A heavy year can be followed by a light one. You can't take one fall and call it the orchard's true capacity."
The next tree produced more. The one after that yielded almost nothing worth collecting. Wade checked for signs of disease, dead wood, and the stress caused by old vines, but he did not pretend that every weak harvest had one simple cause. The trees had grown for years under conditions Nora could not measure, and their present condition reflected those hidden years.