Page 61 of The Mountain Echoes
The apple trees stand bare and bony, their branches silhouetted against the pale blue sky.
I take a breath.
The air smells like damp bark, wet soil, and the first stretch of spring.
Pruning season.
I roll the numbers in my head as I walk the rows.
Thirty-seven acres of apples. Even with focused effort…that’s a few hundred trees. Each one needs attention. Cuts made just so to shape them, thin them, ready them to bear fruit that can actually sell come autumn.
Between Nadine, Tomas, and me, we can get thisdone in a few days. Tomas hasn’t done this before, but we’ll walk him through the method again tomorrow.
A good clean cut, angled, above the bud. No stubs, no rips. No garbage pruning when you rush the rows.
Then there’s the hay.
If we want a first cut that’s worth the diesel it takes to bale it, I need Nadine to walk the fields with me next week.
We’ll take samples and send them for testing.
Nadine can help me mix a top-dress blend for the fertilizer spreader. We’ll spray if we have to.
The dollar figures go up. There isn’t much cash flow, which means I need to use my savings. And I will. All this will be worth it…ifthe cattle sale goes well.
Stop that negativity, Aria.
Fine!Whenthe cattle sale goes well.
The calves in their pens are still shaggy with winter coats. We need to get them in shape—dewormed, fed, worked, slicked up for the Gunnison Livestock Auction at the end of May.
That gives me ten weeks.
If I do this right, if I get them to the ring healthy and clean, I can pull premium prices for organic cattle, which Longhorn is registered as.
My eyes scan the bailing machines.
Nadine mentioned that the belts on the machines slip, a truck that won’t hold a charge, and fencing tools scattered across three sheds.
Two generations of chaos.
Fuck!
My phone beeps, and I look at a message from Sanya:How’s it going?
I call her, wanting a friendly voice to ground me.
“Hey, cowgirl,” Sanya’s cheerful voice comes through the miles that separate us.
“Hey, yourself.”
“So?”
I give her the highlights.
“That’s a lot. How can we help?”
I smile. This is what real friendship looks like—people who ask what they can do for you.
