Rabbit acquisition, fencing, supplemental feed, medical losses, waterers, and related materials cost just under $1,500, excluding Heather's own increased labor.
More than two thousand dollars saved in cash outlay.
Not revolutionary on a large corporate farm.
Life-changing for Heather.
The rabbits also retained value.
She still owned most of them.
Some could be sold as breeding stock.
Others integrated into a managed orchard system the next year.
The biggest difference came from the peaches.
Diversified sales produced several thousand dollars more gross revenue than selling the entire crop to Davies at his reduced bulk price.
After harvest labor, transport, debt payments, and overdue bills, Heather did not become rich.
She ended the season solvent.
That was enough.
The day after final picking, Harold Davies returned.
Heather saw his white pickup before she saw him.
Earl was working nearby.
Susan Bell happened to be visiting.
Luis Alvarez was checking a rabbit enclosure.
The timing looked staged.
It was not.
Harold climbed out.
He surveyed the orchard.
The ground beneath the trees was short and manageable.
Fruit bins were gone.
Rabbits occupied a controlled section farther back.
Heather stood in her gray shirt and dirty overalls, notebook tucked into the bib pocket.
Harold walked toward her.
“Well.”
Heather waited.
“How'd you do?”
She looked at him.
“You came back.”
“You told me to.”
“Did you bring a calculator?”
Earl laughed.
Harold did not.
Heather pulled the notebook out.
“You can use mine.”
He stared.
Then, surprisingly, smiled.
“Fine.”
They sat on the tailgate of Heather's truck.
Heather showed him actual numbers.
Not exaggerated.
Mower repair avoided.
Fuel.
Chemical reduction.
Rabbit costs.
Labor.
Losses.
Peach revenue.
Premium sales.
Davies listened.
At first skeptical.
Then quieter.
He asked questions.
Real questions.
“How much labor moving pens?”
Heather told him.
“Predator loss?”
Nine total deaths and disappearances combined, with uncertainty around two.
“Bark damage?”
Three young trees.
“Did fruit grade improve?”
“Some blocks.”
“Because of rabbits?”
“I can't prove that.”
Harold looked up.
Heather continued.
“Could be water management. Could be tree load. Could be timing. The rabbits reduced weed competition and saved cash. That's what I can show.”
Susan smiled from nearby.
Harold noticed.
“You coaching her?”
Susan replied:
“She doesn't need much.”
Harold studied the ledger.
Finally he said:
“You saved around two grand.”
“In direct floor-management cash.”
“And made more selling around me.”
Heather smiled.
“A little.”
He laughed.
“More than a little.”
Heather said nothing.
Harold looked toward the rabbits.
“They still look ridiculous.”
“So do combines if you've never seen one.”
He laughed again.
Then became serious.
“Arthur would've liked this.”
Heather swallowed.
“He might've told me I was crazy.”
“He would have.”
Harold looked toward her.
“Then he would've asked for the numbers.”
That hurt.
In a good way.
Heather nodded.
Harold closed the notebook.
“I was wrong.”
Earl became completely silent.
Nobody in the county had ever heard Harold Davies say those three words voluntarily.
Heather looked at him.
“About what?”
He smiled.
“Don't abuse the moment.”
“Specificity matters.”
Harold sighed.
“I was wrong to laugh before I understood what you were doing.”
Heather nodded.
“Better.”
“Not wrong that rabbits are ridiculous.”
“There he is.”
Everybody laughed.
That should have ended it.
It did not.
Because farmers talk.
Harold's admission traveled faster than his laughter had.
By winter, Heather received visitors.
Not hundreds.
Maybe two dozen.
Small orchard owners.
Vineyard operators.
One walnut grower.
A teacher from an agricultural program.
Some arrived expecting a miracle.
Heather disappointed them intentionally.
“No.”
She told a farmer from Fresno.
“You cannot just release rabbits into your orchard.”
“Why not?”
“Predators.”
“Heat.”
“Disease.”
“Bark damage.”
“Overgrazing.”
“Breeding.”
“Fencing.”
“Water.”
“Labor.”
He looked disappointed.
“I heard you eliminated mowing.”
“I eliminated owning a broken mower.”
The distinction became her favorite sentence.
Another grower asked:
“Should I sell my tractor?”
“No.”
“Why did you?”
“Mine was dead.”
“So rabbits aren't better?”
Heather looked toward her orchard.
“At some things.”
“Which?”
“Cheap selective grazing of young vegetation in protected rotations.”
“And worse?”
“Everything requiring horsepower.”
The man laughed.
Heather did too.
She hated being turned into the Rabbit Farmer.
She grew peaches.
The rabbits were a tool.
A living tool, which made the responsibility greater.
Susan Bell helped her develop a more formal second-year trial.
Different stocking densities.
Rotation timing.
Tree protection.
Vegetation measurements.
Soil monitoring.
Manure distribution.
Supplemental nutrition.
Predator controls.
They never published some grand scientific breakthrough.
That was not the point.
The county extension office eventually produced a short bulletin describing rabbit grazing as an experimental option for certain small-scale orchard systems under careful management.
The bulletin included more warnings than recommendations.
Heather loved that.
Because serious ideas survived warnings.
Gimmicks required silence about weaknesses.
In spring 1983, Heather replanted six damaged peach trees.
She improved irrigation.
Paid down part of Arthur's old operating debt.
Bought a used compact tractor.
That caused enormous laughter.
Earl arrived while it was being delivered.
“A tractor?”
Heather looked at him.
“Yes.”
“I thought rabbits replaced machines.”
“No.”
“County newspaper says they did.”
“County newspaper is welcome to move fruit bins with rabbits.”
Earl laughed so hard he sat on the fence.
The tractor cost less than rebuilding the mower would have and could perform multiple jobs.
Heather still did not buy another dedicated riding mower.
She used the tractor for occasional mowing where necessary.
Rabbits handled selected orchard vegetation.
The system became hybrid.
Less romantic.
More practical.
Heather preferred practical.
The orchard improved slowly.
Not every year was good.
1984 brought a weak price.
1985 brought water restrictions.
One spring storm damaged blossoms.
A disease outbreak forced Heather to spend money on treatment she had hoped to avoid.