Epitaph for a Peach Read Free Page B

Wildflowers won’t just grow when I start farming naturally. Likewise, my farm won’t “naturally” solve its problems without my intervention.
    When human beings first began to take care of a plant food source, instead of simply foraging and gathering, when a clan started tending its first berry patch, when farming was born, so was the manipulation of nature. Farmers all manipulate nature, some more than others. And some practices are more destructive than others. I may believe I can fool mother nature, but it’s more as if she lets me get away with a few things. She’ll naturally take care of her wildflowers and let me struggle with growing peaches and grapes in a desert.
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    T HE YOUNG MAN had a bunch of wildflowers in his hand when I drove up. Golden poppies ringed his bouquet, lavender lupines stood erect in the center, with wild baby’s breath and black-eyed Susans filling the rest. Next to his car were a box and some paper files. He proudly showed me his collection. He had just divided a dozen types of wildflowers and pressed them for his semester assignment.
    â€œYour professor should be impressed. He’ll think you hiked miles in the foothills for such a diverse collection,” I said.
    â€œI was lucky to find all of them here,” he answered.
    He wrapped his bouquet in newspaper, then began to gather the rest of his material. Even as he rolled down his car window to say goodbye, I kept waiting for him to say something about all the flowers he took from my vineyard. He waved and drove down the road, a probable A on his semester project sitting in the box next to him.
    I stood motionless, dumbfounded and stunned. Didn’t that boy wander through my fields? Didn’t he know this land belonged to someone? Didn’t he know someone planted and tended these lush cover crops? Didn’t he just steal a hoard of flowers from my farm?
    I talked with Marcy about my anger. She listened and then laughed.
    â€œI don’t think it’s funny,” I said.
    â€œYou just don’t get it, do you?” she said. “The boy’s class assignment was to gather a wildflower collection, and he did just that…. Remember, he found a field of ‘wi-ii-ld’ flowers.”
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    O NE DAY MY neighbor asked me about my natural farming. For years he’s driven by every day and watched my cover crops and “wild” farming methods. He asked about the wildflowers first.
    â€œThey’re pretty,” I commented.
    â€œYeah,” he said, nodding, “Ann”—his wife—“keeps reminding me.”
    â€œIt’s taken awhile but they’ve finally established themselves,” I said.
    â€œYou got them scattered all over.”
    â€œIt’s been awhile since I planted them.”
    â€œWait.” He perked up. “You mean you planted them?”
    â€œOh, yeah. It wasn’t too hard. The seed was expensive, about twenty-five dollars a pound, but you get tens of thousands of seeds for that price.”
    He wasn’t listening to my numbers. “You actually planted them?” he repeated.
    â€œI broadcast them by hand, here and there.”
    â€œYou mean, they didn’t just start growing?”
    I paused, unsure about his question. “Well, they took awhile to get established, the drought probably slowed them down.” We both paused, and I sensed we were talking about two different things.
    He turned as we heard Ann drive up the road. She pulled over and told me how pretty the wildflowers were.
    â€œThanks. I’ll try planting some over near your driveway.”
    â€œYou mean you plant them?” she asked.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œOh.” She smiled and repeated how much she liked passing them each day and drove off.
    I repeated the conversation with Marcy that evening and she helped me clarify it. “They think the wildflowers just started growing once you began to farm