In today’s edition of “Why Do We Even Try to Grow Things Here?”, our friends over at Idalou Harvest are currently engaged in a desperate, tear-filled battle against the bipolar disorder that is West Texas weather. While the rest of us were just complaining about having to find a light jacket, the farm’s cherry crop decided to simply give up the ghost and die before the season even officially started.
Because Lubbock and its surrounding satellites exist in a vacuum of climate logic, we’ve enjoyed a delightful cocktail of rain, hail, and premature warmth. This “early spring” tricked the peach trees into blooming early—a classic Lubbock bait-and-switch—leaving them perfectly exposed for the inevitable late freeze that Mother Nature keeps in her back pocket just for spite.
The management at the 55-acre farm is currently reduced to setting row fires to keep the ground from turning into a popsicle tray and literally crying in the fields. It’s a fun little local tradition where we pour labor and hope into the dirt, only to have a stray hailstone or a 28-degree Tuesday turn our summer cobbler into a distant, expensive memory.
The apricots are mostly toast, the cherries are a “complete loss,” and the peaches are currently on life support. If things don’t turn around, we’re looking at fewer jobs and even less local produce, leaving us to rely even more heavily on those flavorless, mealy tomatoes shipped in from three time zones away.
Nothing says “Lubbock Charm” quite like a farmer standing in a field of dead blossoms, reminding us that if they fail, we don’t eat—but hey, at least we’ll still have 400 new car washes to choose from, right?
