Strawberry Apocalypse: Ducks Blame Laws of Physics
A late June lesson in gravity, pressure, and misplaced faith in a Y-connector.
Disclaimer: I’m not a particularly smart guy—especially not when it comes to fluid dynamics. Or gravity. And like most farms with a market cap under $100,000, we’re working with the infrastructure we’ve got. We fix what we can, make do with what we have, and stretch every dollar. We don’t have the money for multiple hose bibs, and we certainly don’t have frost-free hydrant money.
On a late June Sunday packed with birthday parties and family dinner—I was lucky enough to get a strong dozen strawberry runners from Katey over at Lumberjack Apiary. These weren’t just any runners—these were future pies, jam, and sticky-kid-smiles-on-a-Saturday-morning type strawberries. I was excited.
Most of the day was booked solid with cake, candles, cousins, and chaos, but I carved out time in the evening to stop by, grab the plants, and get to work. I had already prepared a bed—bounded, amended, and ready—with pre-punched drip irrigation tubing neatly in place. I even set a program on the timer so I could plug and play as soon as the plants hit dirt.
Despite some light rain and occasional thunder and lightning cracking in the distance, I got them all planted that night. Then I kicked on a manual hour-long watering session to make sure the soil was saturated and the transplants got the welcome drink they deserved.
The next day, I was still feeling pretty good about the setup. But after work, I walked out to check and found every single plant looking like it had survived the nuclear apocalypse from Terminator 2. Limp. Curled. Fried.
This wasn’t just transplant shock—this was a grab-a-chain-link-fence horticultural apocalypse.
I figured it had to be water. I ran another manual cycle on the timer. Nothing. I uncapped the end of the line. Still nothing. Walked to the timer, cracked the fitting where it meets the hose. Bone dry.
Now I’m walking backward, checking each step. The hose bib was on. The other side of the Y-connector? Flowing fine. This line? Nothing.
What’s weird is that it had been working. Or at least I thought it had. It wasn’t the last time I checked it, but probably wasn’t the last time it actually ran.
And that’s on me. I trusted the setup without verifying it.
Then I spotted it—downhill in the chicken run, where the geese had turned their automatic waterer into a full-time marsh. A whole 8x20 section was soaked, which the ducks probably thought was fantastic. But the garden? Not so much.
Turns out, with the poultry side pulling full pressure at the bottom of the hill, the line going uphill to the strawberries didn’t have enough pressure left to get water where it was needed.
Fluid Dynamics 101, Farm Edition:
Water doesn’t go uphill when it can go downhill.
Gravity is free. Pumps are not.
After the kids went to bed, I figured it out. Got the water flowing again. Even felt the cool drip on my fingers.
I’m hoping it was just a rough day in the sun and not a cremation.
