tic tub to the washing area. “The lettuce is

tic tub to the washing area.

“The lettuce is no good,” Mr. Bums said. “Throw it in the compost area.”

We stared dumbfounded. We had spent hours hunched over wet soil on a chilly day.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Bonser asked.

“The aphids got them.”

“I don’t see any bugs,” said Mr. Bonser, reaching for the nearest head and staring intently at it.

“Break it is half,” said Mr. Bums. “Look at its heart.”

I grabbed a head and wreched it open. It was teaming with black dots the size of sesame seeds.

Mr. Bums said, “I spent the whole morning trying to wash them out, but I couldn’t do it without destroying the heads. They’ll have to be thrown away. I think it’s the cold weather-the aphids headed to the cores to keep warm. ”

“Didn’t you say you get paid a dollar a head? Aren’t you talking about a loss of thousands of dollars? I asked.

“$8,000,” he said flatly.

“Are you sorry you didn’t spray?” asked Mr. Bonser, referring to Rotenone, a naturally-derived pesticide.

“I guess so,” ftir. Bums muttered as he moved to dump out the lettuce.

I returned to the farm later that aftemoon-ostensibly to show my two young children the pig and goats, but really to see how my friends were handling the disaster. Now Mr. Bums would have to wrait another year before seeing a profit, before making a dent in an outstanding loan. Everyone would have to find another job to see them through the winter.

I found Mr. Bums and Mr. Bonser planting onions, a crop that can weather and winter under a blanket of straw.

“I sprayed Rotenone on 4,000 baby lettuce plants-that should rid them of the aphids before we harvest them in two weeks,” he said glumly.

Since Rotenone is approved for orgranic produce, I knew Mr. Bums could ship this last set of4,000 heads to the Sutton Place Gourmet and still retain his orgranic status.

I thought he was glum because 4,000 heads was all he was able to save with the spary. I w'as wrong.

Weeks later, when it was too cold to work and we had time to talk, I