Free Epitaph for a Peach by David M. Masumoto

peaches taste sweeter, but I’ve always thought he had an affinity for the old wood.
    Tiny peaches cling to the slender limbs, and I catch myself envisioning them a few months from now at harvesttime. Two or three old branches do not look right, and I sense they may die before harvest. My conclusion is based only on a hunch that comes from having worked with these trees for decades. The trees provide subtle clues in a grand mystery that can alternately frustrate and torment or amaze and initiate.
    I hear steps behind me. Pat is smiling. “We’re getting the hang of it,” he says, breaking the spell.
    We continue to walk in silence. Then he turns.
    â€œI’m sorry but I just can’t help it.” He pulls out a small hand lens dangling around his neck. “I’ve been trained as an entomologist for too long. I have to revert to my old ways.” I give my approval, thankful he doesn’t ask what I was just thinking. My thoughts have wandered too. I am calculating how many boxes of fruit I can pull from this orchard and what the different pricing schemes and potential profit margins will be this year.
    He drops to the ground and examines some drying cover crop leaves. “They’re full of mites,” he announces.
    A knot instantly forms in my stomach. Immediately I think of the damage mites can cause and what I could spray to control them. Old habits are hard to break.
    â€œBut I’ve never seen this species in a peach tree.”
    I relax, embarrassed by my reaction. I look through his lens, don’t recognize the little spiderlike creatures, and am happy they would rather stay in the clover. We both walk out of the orchard with the knowledge that the peach crop will probably be fine. Should we become too confident, nature will put a stop to our foolishness. In the meantime, it’s wonderful to feel satisfied without knowing or even caring exactly why.
    Five Worms
    â€œFive worms.”
    I ask Pat to repeat.
    â€œFive worms, I found five worms in your peaches.” Pat has just finished one of his weekly data-gathering searches at my farm.
    â€œWhat kind of worms?”
    His voice is calm. “OFM. Oriental fruit moth.”
    That’s not what I mean. I want to know the size of the worms, their color, and are they eating leaves or peaches? I ask, “Are the worms ugly?”
    He pauses and I try to collect my thoughts. Then he says, “I’m not as familiar with OFM,” and tries to comfort the shaken farmer by adding, “The peach twig borer populations are low, real low.”
    My eyes grow wide and I stare blankly out toward my fields. I mumble “Five worms” to myself.
    I drive out to the field and Pat follows in his truck. The green peaches are growing fat, the size of Christmas decorations. The leaves flutter in a breeze like thousands of baby bird wings. Nervous anxiety builds and I start to search for worms, but I stop. I have no idea where to look.
    Pat sits in his truck, procrastinating with a data log before joining me in the field. I plunge into a dozen questions. “What do OFM larvae look like at this time of year? They aren’t after my green peaches yet, are they? Do other farmers have an outbreak?” I end with my most important one: “Pat, how many more worms are there?”
    Pat shrugs. “I’m not sure. Like I said, OFM’s not my thing. But I did do some reading.” He launches into a ten-minute lecture on oriental fruit moth, and I learn more in those few minutes than in all my years on the farm. When five worms munch on your trees, your learning curve accelerates.
    Initially I want to quantify the problem, break it down into dollars and cents.
    Before, I used to apply a pesticide in winter that took care of all these worm problems. It wasn’t expensive, maybe $20 per acre, for which I’d also get a low-stress spring and summer. But my natural-farming attempt is quickly becoming