Volusia County citrus grower Steve Crump fights against a disease that threatens the future of the Florida citrus industry.
October 23, 2023 | Photo essay by Elise Plunk
Even though the weather was hot and the land swampy, promoters advertised Florida as a paradise on Earth. Citrus was sold as ambrosia.
The sun was always shining, a cure-all for human ailments; the soil was almost magical, able to grow any seed as if blessed by God. Gleaming smiles of pinup girls on billboards holding pitchers of orange juice shined into the cars of the tourists driving along the state’s highways.
Steve Crump, owner of VoLaSalle Farms in De Leon Springs, said he and his family have been growing citrus in the area since the orange fever of the 1880s. Some of his current groves were established as far back as the 1920s, generation upon generation of orange trees taking root in the rich, dark soil.
Green often symbolizes life.
It is not an uncommon association for the tart, vibrant color to signify new beginnings.Green is the color of nature, little bits of life that burst up from the soil or leaves that collect the sun and reach up towards the sky.
But for Florida’s oranges, green can mean disease. Green can mean disaster.
Citrus greening is a disease caused by a bacterium known as Huanglongbing, otherwise known as HLB, and translated in English to yellow dragon sickness. HLB is spread by a disease-carrying insect, the Asian citrus psyllid, and prevents the sweet, sunshine-loving fruit from getting the sugar it needs to ripen.
“Once the tree recognizes there’s a foreign particle inside of it, it tries to stop it from spreading,” said Tripti Vashisth, associate professor of horticultural sciences and citrus extension specialist at the University of Florida Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences.
But in order to stop the bacteria from spreading, the tree plugs its phloem, the vascular system in plants that transports sugars from the leaves.
The cheerful, fragrant harvest warps into a mass of green, bitter oranges falling off the branch. Whatever fruit does ripen is of much lesser quality. Too weak to fight, the tree dies.
Heartier hybrids like Sugarbell oranges and structures like greenhouses and screen bags help curb the spread of the disease but aren’t perfect. Screen bags blow off easily in storms, and greenhouse structures cost about $1 per square foot, making even a single acre (about 43,000 square feet) an expensive undertaking.
Green death sweeps across Crump’s orange groves, the yellow dragon burrowing deep into the heart of old Florida and its exemplary citrus industry.
Many of Crump’s once-thriving groves have become “ghost groves.” Decades-old trees dripped heavily with Spanish moss, a sign of a tree’s failing health. Crump walked through the ailing groves, pinching a yellowing leaf between his fingers. He stared vacantly down as the leaf crumbled in his hands.
“They look horrible,” he said. “They’re dying.”
But not all hope is lost for Florida citrus. Scientists and industry professionals studying the progression of citrus greening across the state are working to create treatments for infected trees. Lisa Jensen, the director of the Fruit and Vegetables Division for the Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services, described the recent studies treating infected trees with oxy-tetracycline injections.
“We’re probably in our second cycle of that application, and we are seeing that the trees are responding really well,” said Jensen.
While the studies are still in their beginning stages, she says the treatments offer “more than just a ray of hope” for the future of citrus in Florida.
No longer able to fully support his farm off of citrus sales alone, Crump has taken on part-time work away from his groves and turned to vegetable growing as a way to stay afloat.
“I could turn them into cow pastures,” he said about his groves as he discussed ways to diversify his income. “But cows give me no joy. Citrus gives me joy.”
