Page 7 of Just Friends
“Is it as bad as last year?”
“Hard to say, but—”
“It’s a total loss, isn’t it, Paulie?”
Slowly, she began to nod. “Kinda looks like it, yeah. You want to see it for yourself? I can head over to the big field real quick and show you, if you want.”
“Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” she said, popping to her feet. “I got all the time in the world now.”
A second later, she fired up her ATV and zoomed off. The grainy picture went choppy as she zipped across the land and headed over to the big field.
After a quick ride, Paulina pulled into the field and slowly prowled up and down the hundred-foot long rows, aiming her camera at the plants as she rolled by so I could see the damage. She started with the tomatoes. At first glance, the plantslookedhealthy and promising, with plump clusters of tomatoes just beginning to turn—but the speckled touch of rust on the yellowing foliage told a different story. Those plants wouldallbe dead within a day or two. And even if a few stragglers managed to survive, their fruit would be trash. We couldn’t sell it, heck, we couldn’t evengive it away,because we just don’t know if it’d be safe to eat.
But that’s what happens when your lovely neighbors spray herbicide on a day with a fifteen-mile-an-hour wind: the noxious cloud of chemicals gets carried from theircrops over to ours.TheirGMO soybeans were genetically engineered to resist the herbicide—our heirloom crops, however, weren’t. A touch of that stuff is a death sentence for the plants my family grows.
Paulina cruised up and down the rest of the field. Row after row told the same story: the zukes, peppers, cukes, eggplant, the cole crops …everything… all sprayed. Just like last year, this year’s crop was a total loss.
No crops meant no produce. No produce meant no income for a second year in a row. And my family isfarfrom rich. Even in a good growing season, they pretty much scrape by the skin of their teeth.
Paulina had reached the end of the field, concluding my tour. “Well, that’s about it.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
“Unbelievable.” I let out a heavy and defeated breath. “How are Mom and Dad taking it?”
“You know how they are.” She gave an easy shrug of her shoulder. “Momma’s in the greenhouse. I can head over there if you want to talk to her.”
“Would you mind?” I asked.
“Not at all. One sec.”
The video went choppy a second time as Paulina raced back to the house. She parked on the gravel road outside the greenhouse and went in. Even over the phone, I could feel the wave of balmy heat that hits you like a wall once you step through that door.
“Momma?” Paulina scanned the rows of cucumber and tomato plants, looking for mom. “Ah! There you are. I’ve got Piper on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”
The phone changed hands and Momma appeared on screen, the tattered and decades-old straw-brim hat in its rightful place atop her head.
“Hello, Piper!” she said. “How are you?”
Her bronze skin glowed. Momma sported a year-round tan earned from a lifetime of working under the sun. Despite the hard lines in her face, she still positivelybeamedwith a youthful energy that made her look twenty years younger.
“Hi, Momma,” I muttered, “I’m good.”
“Look at you,” she said, smiling proudly into the phone, “you looksolovely. How’s life in Texas?”
“Fine,” I said, fully aware of how much I sounded like that annoyed seventeen-year-old brat that just couldn’twaitto get away from home.
“And how’s your garden coming along?” she asked.
“Meh. It’s okay.” I quickly whipped the phone camera around to quickly show her the flowers, herbs, and spices I had growing in containers on our balcony. “Space is limited, but I make do with what I’ve got.”
“Make do? Oh, please! It looks like you’re doing incredible. Your father and I always talk about how much we miss seeing your lovely flowers growing out front, you know. And after all this time, westillget the occasional customer coming up to our booth at the Farmer’s Market wanting to buy one of your bouquets.” She beamed with pride. “Can you show me your garden again?”
I aimed the camera to give her a better look.
“I see zinnias, azaleas, snap dragons, geraniums—” Momma rattled off the list of flowers I had growing. I had to cut to the chase, or else we could easily spend all day talking plants.
