SilentGroves and a Stubborn Hope for Florida Citrus in the Age of Greening
For more than a century, citrus defined Florida as much as its beaches. Rows of orange trees stretched endlessly across sandy soil, their branches sagging under the weight of ripe fruit. The scent of blossoms drifted through the air each spring, and the harvest that followed fueled local economies, family legacies, and the culture of towns along the way. Packing houses hummed day and night. Small towns rose and fell with the harvest, their rhythms tied to bloom, set, and pick. Citrus was not just a crop—it was an identity.
Vero Beach native Susan Hale fondly remembers those days. Her parents, Stephen and Polly Hale, established Hale Groves in 1947 and quickly became a leader in the citrus gift box industry, shipping Indian River citrus across the United States and to Europe. Susan’s earliest childhood memories include handing out orange juice samples to long lines of thirsty visitors arriving on dusty tour buses heading to Florida’s sunny shores.
Today, the landscape has been drastically altered. Empty fields, struggling trees, and abandoned packing houses now mark areas that once defined American citrus farming. At the core of this change is a destructive plant disease called citrus greening, which has reshaped Florida agriculture over the past twenty years.
Before Greening: An Industry at Its Peak
Florida’s modern citrus industry peaked in the early 2000s. During the 2003-4 season, growers harvested about 242 million boxes of citrus, mostly oranges for juice. Florida supplied most of the orange juice consumed in the United States and ranked second only to Brazil in global orange juice production. At that time, citrus covered more than 750,000 acres across the state and contributed over $9 billion annually to Florida’s economy, supporting nearly 90,000 jobs statewide, according to the University of Florida.
Susan Hale said, “I remember riding my horse, Wildfire, along the sandy paths between the groves. The sweet perfume of the orange blossoms was heavy in the air, and folks said the scent wafted on the breezes all the way to the barrier island. Dodgertown had groves all around. They were beautiful.”
Many groves, like Hale Groves, were multi-generational trees planted by parents and grandparents still producing fruit for their children. Yields were consistent, fruit quality was excellent, and although freezes and hurricanes were always threats, they were familiar ones. Growers knew how to recover.
The adversary they did not know how to fight was already arriving.
Citrus Greening and Devastation
Citrus greening, officially known as Huanglongbing (HLB), was first identified in Florida in 2005, although it is believed to have existed earlier. The disease is caused by a bacterium—Candidatus Liberibacter asiaticus—and is transmitted by a tiny, sap-sucking insect called the Asian citrus psyllid, which is no bigger than a grain of rice.
Once a psyllid feeds on an infected tree, it can carry the bacterium for life and transmit it while feeding on healthy trees. The bacterium harms the tree’s vascular system, blocking the flow of nutrients from roots to canopy.
Hale recalls that before greening, there was a canker on orange trees, and they didn’t know what caused it, but they believed it was highly contagious. Her father had an incredibly productive grove, and the grove next door also had the canker, so her father had to burn the entire grove to prevent the spread of the disease. After the canker, greening appeared.
Anyone who has tried to grow a lemon or lime tree in Florida can confirm that greening has destructive effects. Growers first notice the leaves develop a blotchy yellow pattern resembling nutrient deficiencies. The reality is that the roots begin to die back long before any symptoms appear above ground. The fruit becomes small, misshapen, and bitter, often staying partially green even when ripe. Fruit yields decline year after year until the tree becomes sickly and useless.
There is no cure. Once infected, a tree will never recover. The spread of the disease was relentless, grove by grove, county by county.
Since the arrival and spread of citrus greening, production has plummeted. In the 2022-23 season, Florida produced only 16.1 million boxes of oranges, the lowest output since the 1930s and a loss of 226 million boxes in just two decades, reducing its output by more than 90 percent from its peak. Citrus acreage has fallen from 750,000 acres to less than 300,000 acres today. Orange production, the industry’s backbone, has been most severely affected. Many juice plants have shut down. Packing houses that once employed hundreds now sit abandoned behind chain-link fences. Some growers have bulldozed entire groves, making way for housing developments, cattle pastures, or solar farms. Others have simply abandoned their orchards.
The Human Toll
Hale Groves was more than just a citrus company; it was a close-knit family of local workers, many from the Gifford area of Vero Beach. It employed local residents year-round, with the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons being the busiest times. Office staff, including longtime employees Mary Lindsay and Marguerite Boutwell, along with over 40 telemarketers, generated sales, while grove workers used ladders to pick the fruit. The harvested citrus was then taken to a packing house where it was cleaned, sorted by size and quality, and stored in large bins on US 1 near 23rd Street. Brothers Jerry and Felix Thomas worked in the packing houses, and Susan Hale says they were “like uncles to me.”
Hale also reports that local growers felt a strong sense of camaraderie. When they needed products to fulfill an order, they bought from each other. There was no citrus like Indian River citrus, and they supported each other.
“My parents believed in community,” Hale said. “They donated to different community organizations and provided juice for many events and activities in our area, especially in Gifford where most of the workers lived. They also sold fruit at a discount to schools and churches across the country that was used as fundraisers.”
Although the Hale family sold their business in 2006, Susan reminds us that behind every struggling and abandoned grove is a human story. Citrus farming is capital-intensive and harsh. Trees take years to produce fruit, and profits are slim even during good times. Greening has forced growers to spend more on fertilizers, insect control, and replanting, all while harvesting less fruit each year. According to the University of Florida, the cost of producing oranges has more than doubled since greening became widespread, while yields have dropped significantly.
Justin McSweeney, who manages a team of surveyors and inspectors across a ten-county region in eastern Florida, said of the growers he works with, “You can hear the discouragement in their voices.” Their love of citrus is evident, but he noted, “The greatest pressure since the arrival of greening is the evaluation of what to do with my land—what to plant. Real estate causes pressure for grove owners. You can get a ridiculous amount of money per acre, which is a big incentive to exit the citrus industry.”
For multigenerational grower families, the loss runs deeper than just money. It is cultural. Many growers speak of grief—the kind that comes from watching something alive slowly fade despite every effort to save it. The silence of a dead grove, once filled with bees, birds, and harvest crews, is something few forget.
“In the quiet rows of the remaining groves, there is a stubborn, sunbaked determination: the story of Florida citrus is not finished, only rewritten.”
Science Fights Back
Despite the extensive damage, scientists have not given up—and neither have many growers. Researchers and inspectors like McSweeney across Florida and around the world are tackling greening from different angles. McSweeney is responsible for measuring the levels of canker, greening, and mealybugs he finds across the counties in his area. He looks for new issues—things not previously documented, such as diseases, scales, and fungi. He also looks for signs of resilience.
Managing insects remains crucial, McSweeney said. Integrated pest management combines targeted insecticide applications with biological controls, such as parasitic wasps that prey on psyllids. McSweeney highlights a group on Picos Road in Ft Pierce that researches ally and companion plants that attract predators to psyllids. He describes it as an “out of the box, novel approach.” A genetic method for controlling psyllids is also being explored, similar to successful fruit fly containment studies. Scientists aim to introduce insects with compromised reproductive fitness into the environment to slow down pests’ life cycles.
Because greening destroys roots, scientists have developed intensive nutritional programs to keep infected trees productive longer. While not a cure, optimized nutrition can slow decline. Plant breeders and researchers are developing new rootstocks like “Super Sour 3” that better tolerate greening, allowing trees to survive and produce fruit. Some experimental varieties show significantly improved longevity and yield. Additionally, McSweeney said that significant work is being done using the top of the graft, or budwood. The University of Florida’s IFAS program has been exploring what they call the “Donaldson Clone,” which shows more resistance to the disease.
West of the I-95 interchange in Vero Beach, Australian Craig Pressler has 500 acres where he is testing 300,000 mandarin seeds that have been treated and may be resistant to canker and greening. McSweeney said they are hoping to develop fruit that can survive greening and still produce high-quality fruit.
Other options include trunk injections of antibiotics like oxytetracycline that have demonstrated promise in reducing bacterial populations and improving tree health. These treatments are carefully regulated and still under ongoing research, but they are among the first tools to directly target the bacterium.
More advanced research includes gene editing and transgenic techniques aimed at increasing resistance to the bacterium or slowing its spread. For example, scientists could transfer genes from the resistant finger lime plant to vulnerable fruit tree varieties affected by the disease. These efforts are long-term, but they offer hope for a lasting solution.
“The citrus industry is trying to innovate,” McSweeney said. “Worldwide, there will be a way to overcome the greening issue. Whether that happens in the States, we aren’t sure because of other competing financial issues. Citrus may endure as a more expensive, boutique, or specialty fruit within the next twenty years.”
A Changed Landscape, A Stubborn Hope
Florida’s citrus industry is now smaller, leaner, and significantly changed. Where once endless groves stretched to the horizon, there are now gaps—empty land, young trees struggling to grow, or different crops altogether. The scent of orange blossoms still returns each spring, but it’s softer.
And yet, citrus endures.
Growers continue planting. Scientists keep experimenting. New groves are being designed with higher density, better drainage, and are protected by screens or advanced management systems. The industry may never return to its previous size, but many believe it can survive in a new form.
Each surviving grove represents adaptation, persistence, and faith in science. New varieties are still being planted. Researchers continue testing treatments. Growers remain hopeful that innovation will help keep citrus a staple of Florida’s landscape.
In the quiet rows of remaining groves, beneath leaves still shining against the sky, there is the stubborn, sunbaked determination of people who still believe that oranges belong in this soil and that the story of Florida citrus is not finished, only rewritten.
