“Annoying! I said it’s annoying!”
The girls looking at Ileina were at a loss for what to do in the face of her harsh whining. They knew all too well that the daughter of the owner of Silver Oak Farm—the finest vineyard in Napa Valley—had quite a temper.
Even so, there was one woman whom even Ileina dared not treat carelessly.
“Just forget about it. You did land one punch on him, didn’t you?”
At Chloe’s words, Ileina barely managed to suppress her anger and said,
“Those stupid, pathetic wetbacks...”
Everyone wore faintly startled expressions at her use of the racist slur for Mexican immigrants, but none of them could bring themselves to tell her outright that she was in the wrong.
Chloe was no different, but she frowned at Ileina’s next words.
“That yellow monkey is no different. What does some monkey from the middle of nowhere think—”
“Enough, don’t you think?”
“......”
At Chloe’s words, which sounded a little angry, Ileina’s eyes widened. No matter that she was the daughter of the owner of Napa Valley’s finest vineyard, there was no way she could compare with Chloe’s family.
Besides, she was clearly far below Chloe in the school’s hierarchy of beauty and power, so Ileina couldn’t act carelessly in front of her.
“And Brian didn’t even say anything to you, did he? I heard he just greeted you.”
“That was......”
“I know you’re angry, but leave it at that. Forget about it, and let’s just have a party this weekend. Evan said he’s bringing the football team to this one.”
“...Fine.”
After pacifying Ileina to some extent, Chloe passed through the classroom and discreetly looked around for Brian, but she couldn’t find him.
She let out a quiet sigh and walked past the classroom with an unreadable look in her eyes.
---
One side of the school football field.
“Did I really do something that wrong?”
Looking down at Armando, who was clutching his head in anguish, I clicked my tongue as I stood there.
“Tsk, tsk... Why did you have to say something so unnecessary?”
“I was just curious!”
“...You’re hopeless when it comes to dating. The important thing in a relationship is not to blurt out exactly what’s on your mind.”
“Really? There’s something like that?”
“You wouldn’t know. Anyway, there is. The most important thing when you’re dating is reading the room. Having tact.”
“Haa... Is it really impossible for me and Christina?”
“Why did the conclusion suddenly become that? You just got slapped by Ileina!”
In the end, Ileina had been unable to hold back her anger and slapped Armando across the face. The impact of it had been something else...
Knowing that he had made a mistake, Armando merely rubbed his struck cheek with an aggrieved expression. Afraid I might get hit for no reason, I kept an eye on Ileina and slowly backed away.
“But honestly, I feel wronged! Not because I got hit, but because they put table grapes covered in pesticides on display. If they’d just proudly admitted they used pesticides, fine—but claiming they were organic while deceiving people is seriously wrong!”
“It is wrong, but you didn’t have to be the one to expose them.”
“That’s true.”
After readily admitting his mistake, Armando abruptly raised his head and asked,
“You guys aren’t entering the table grape competition?”
“You know the state of our farm. The previous owner sold off all the grapes worth using, and we’re making vinegar out of what’s left.”
“Vinegar?”
“Yeah.”
“Aw...”
“But we’ll enter next year. With table grapes.”
“Really? That won’t be easy.”
“I’m confident. Next year, the grapes from our Redwood Farm will be recognized as the finest in Napa Valley.”
Perhaps it was because of how utterly confident I sounded. Armando stared blankly at me with wide eyes before speaking.
“That’s incredible. You really have amazing confidence. Are all Asians like that?”
“You should consider me a special case.”
“Ooh—then hire me at your farm. I want to learn from you, too.”
“Huh? No way... I don’t teach just anybody.”
Armando suddenly grabbed hold of my leg.
“Please!”
“All right. I’ll think about it.”
“Hahaha! Yes!”
After all that turmoil, I returned home and, as always, tossed my bag into the farm shed before heading to the winery.
“How is it?”
My parents beamed when they saw me.
“You’re here? How does it smell?”
Along with the scent of grapes, the sour smell of acetic acid filled the winery. Even from the smell alone, I could tell that things were proceeding properly.
“Ooh—it seems to be going well.”
“Right? What if this sells incredibly well?”
Mom was already worrying happily about a future success.
“Wait until we see the results before you start worrying about that.”
At that moment, Dad gazed anxiously at the large tank that was aging nicely and said,
“So all we have to do now is wait? What are we supposed to do in the meantime? We’ve already finished the pest control...”
“Are you worried because there’s no work?”
“You know how it is. It seems like your mother alone is enough to handle things here now, but it feels strange and unsettling for a farmer to sit still.”
Dad had shown such a strong determination not to suffer another failure, yet the moment he had a little free time, he was already growing anxious.
“Don’t worry. We have plenty of work.”
“We do?”
“Of course. Did you really think we’d just spray the pesticides once and wait until spring?”
“Wasn’t that the plan?”
“Dad, what did I tell you? I said I’d make it possible for us to grow the finest Cabernet Sauvignon in Napa Valley. Do you think we can do that by simply staring at the weather?”
“...I suppose not.”
“From now on, you and I are going to make compost. It’s a type of compost that didn’t exist before, but I learned about it at school.”
Naturally, it was not a type of compost that could have been taught at a school during this period. What I intended to make was pyro-compost, a biochar-compost blend.
“Really? How do you make it?”
“First, we need a drum.”
“A drum? What for? Aren’t we buying one?”
“We’re not buying one. Go find a drum somewhere. We also need coarse materials like branches and rice husks. And find some things like grape skins, too. Absolutely no wet plywood or painted lumber.”
“Hey... what are you going to do?”
“...... I’ll look for some grape skins. Oh, and I’ll bring dust masks and gloves.”
As expected, getting Dad to do things was not easy.
“Will this do?”
Dad had managed to find a fairly decent drum somewhere. He had also gathered the materials I’d asked for, while I hadn’t been sitting idle either—I’d collected grape skins, branches, and the like. Since the surrounding area was all farmland, finding branches from dead trees wasn’t difficult.
I took the secondhand drum we had prepared and moved it to the center of the yard. The bottom of the drum struck the ground with a dull thud.
“What do we do now?”
“Please punch some holes in the drum with a nail. Not near the top—down toward the bottom.”
“How many holes?”
“About... fifteen to twenty?”
Dad nodded lightly, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. The cheerful clang of metal meeting hammer rang out. While Dad punched holes in the drum, I carefully layered the materials inside it.
“Is it done?”
“Yes.”
After filling half the drum with layers of residue and branches, I lit a fire from the top. The flames slowly began to burn downward, and soon they had spread across the entire upper portion of the drum.
“Now we’ll cover it slightly with the lid to regulate the airflow. Dad, please prepare some sand and a fire extinguisher over there.”
Dad immediately brought over a fire extinguisher and some sand. I placed the lid at an angle so that an appropriate amount of air could flow inside.
“But what is this?”
“Oh, this is called pyro-compost, or a biochar-compost blend. The biochar here is similar to charcoal, but it’s a form of carbon made so that it doesn’t burn completely in the presence of oxygen. If you look at it, you can just think, ‘Oh, it’s charcoal.’”
Mom had been watching and now asked,
“What’s good about doing this?”
“I said it becomes similar to charcoal once it’s finished, right? The countless tiny pores in the charcoal hold onto water and nutrients like a sponge. That means the soil can endure drought better, and even when there’s a lot of rain, the fertilizer won’t wash away as easily.”
“Oh my, really?”
“On top of that, it absorbs the smell of the compost, greatly reducing the odor, and helps microorganisms multiply.”
Dad, who had been listening quietly, asked,
“That does sound useful. So what’s better about this compared to fertilizer?”
“Ah, you can think of this as something that assists fertilizer. Since it keeps the soil around the roots moist for a long time, irrigation costs should drop by at least twenty to thirty percent. Phosphorus (P) and calcium (K) will also be absorbed more effectively, reducing fertilizer costs—by as much as twenty percent, perhaps. And because it increases the organic carbon in the soil, the grapes will develop deeper flavor and aroma.”
Dad’s eyes grew wide as he listened to my explanation.
“That much?”
“Yes. It’ll also reduce fluctuations in acidity and sugar content. So of course we should do it, right?”
“Y-yes...”
We spent some time talking, and after about forty minutes, the amount of smoke visibly decreased. I quickly put out the fire with the extinguisher and sand.
“That’s done. Now we just cool it, crush it, and the biochar is complete.”
Once the biochar had cooled, we struck it with a wooden mallet and pickaxe, breaking it into pieces about the size of small beans. Mom and Dad, wearing masks, diligently swung the pickaxe and hammer, while I worked hard alongside them.
Once the biochar was ready, we moved on to the next step: mixing it with compost.
“We’ll mix the compost and biochar in a nine-to-one ratio. The moisture level is best when it clumps together in your hand but crumbles slightly.”
I explained as I evenly mixed the compost and biochar with a shovel. Dad followed along, concentrating on my instructions.
“Now we’ll cover this with plastic and let it mature for about two weeks. Then microorganisms will enter the pores in the charcoal and help the crops grow well.”
“I see... Our son really is amazing.”
Mom grasped my hand with a deeply moved expression.
“Haha... You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s only natural.”
“Then what do we do once the two weeks are up?”
Dad asked with an expectant look on his face. I walked over to the nearest grapevine and began digging a furrow around it with my hands as I spoke.
“See here? Dig a furrow like this~ around the trunk of the grapevine, about five to ten centimeters deep. Then spread in about a handful of the charcoal and cover it with soil.”
“Ooh, I see.”
I straightened my back and looked at the vine, then gently stroked its trunk, which had been badly weakened by powdery mildew.
“If it gets enough nutrients and grows well, healthy vines will come up next spring.”