American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Fett handed over the wooden sword he had just made.

The little boy eagerly took it, gripping the handle of the knife inlaid with gold bullet casings tightly with both hands, waving it around and gesturing with it, clearly delighted with it.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

He clutched his mother's clothes, looked up, his eyes filled with longing:

"I want this! It's so cool!"

The young mother smiled as she watched her son's excited expression, then turned her gaze back to Fett.

"How much?"

"30 dollars," Fett quoted the price that had been agreed upon beforehand.

"Only $30?"

The woman raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, her tone carrying a hint of casual extravagance:

"It's not even enough for a meal."

She pulled a crisp fifty-dollar bill from her limited-edition LV wallet, held it between two long, slender fingers, and handed it to him, her eyes fixed intently on Fett.

"Keep the change, keep the rest as a tip."

"You're so generous."

Fett smiled and reached out to take the banknote.

The woman's fingers did not immediately loosen their grip the moment her fingertips touched the banknote.

As she handed over the money, she casually touched Fett's muscular arm with her exquisitely manicured fingertips.

Fett raised an eyebrow, calmly withdrew his hand, rubbed the crisp banknote between his fingertips, and gave the woman a charming smile, as if nothing had just happened.

They gave me an extra twenty dollars, so I might as well touch it.

"Madam, thank you for your generosity."

"Jessica! Where have you been? Let's go pick some trees!"

A woman's voice suddenly came from outside the door.

"See you later, cowboy."

The young mother winked at Fet, then turned and led her son, who was still playing, out the door, her high heels clicking on the floor.

Fett put the money in his pocket, shook his head, and turned back to his worktable.

"It seems that this tough guy persona is not only popular with children, but also quite effective with these bored rich women."

He picked up the next piece of wood, and the band saw roared again.

As the sun rose higher, more and more cars appeared in the yard, and the yard became bustling with noise.

The garage has become a new popular tourist attraction.

Many parents with children would curiously come over to peek and see what the tough guy who dared to fight wild boar was doing.

The belt sander spun at high speed, and sawdust flew like snowflakes.

Fett stood in front of the workbench, skillfully sharpening a wooden knife while chatting with the onlookers, his hands never stopping.

"This white oak is a good thing; it's hard and has a dense grain."

He held up a half-finished piece of wood that had just been polished, showing off its delicate wood grain to everyone:

"If you handle it for a long time, it will slowly oxidize and form a patina similar to that of old amber. The more you play with it, the more lustrous and beautiful it becomes."

He casually tapped the golden shotgun shell base into the knife hilt, making a crisp sound:

"Moreover, this wooden sword is unsharpened, making it very safe and perfect as a toy for little boys."

"It satisfies children's dreams of being heroes without the worry of them getting hurt, making it a truly unique souvenir."

This rhetoric was clearly very effective.

"Give one to my kid!!"

"Me too! Can you engrave my son's name on it? Jack!"

A middle-aged man squeezed to the front, his eyes gleaming with eagerness, and said:

"Hey kid, I saw the knife you made, I really like it!"

"I'd like to order a real hunting knife from you, the kind that can cut open a belly, is that alright?"

"sure!"

Fett smiled and took out a notebook:

"I'll start the furnace once my leg injury has healed."

"You can pay a deposit first and leave your contact information. You can pick it up yourself later, or I can mail it to you!"

Thanks to Fett's vigorous sales efforts, business was exceptionally good.

The newly made wooden knives were snapped up by outstretched hands before they could even be warmed up, and many people were even queuing up with money in hand, waiting for the next batch to be made.

Just as Fett was so busy he didn't even have time to drink water, old Frank suddenly rushed in, panting and looking anxious:

"Fett! Come with me to the backyard!"

"There are two groups of customers over there who have their eyes on the same tree, and neither will give way. They insist that you go over and judge!"

Upon hearing this, Fett immediately stopped what he was doing and turned off the belt sander.

He turned around and smiled apologetically at the customers who were still in line waiting for wooden knives:

"Everyone, I'm so sorry. There's been a small problem in the woods, I have to go check it out."

"After all, everyone has come all this way mainly to buy a satisfactory Christmas tree, so we can't let small things ruin the big picture."

"Let's put the wooden sword souvenir matter aside for now. I'll be right back once I've finished dealing with it."

Although the guests were a little disappointed, they were understanding, and many even became interested when they heard there was something exciting to watch.

"Let's go! Let's go take a look!"

Fett followed behind old Frank out, followed by a large crowd of onlookers, and they marched in a grand procession toward the woods in the backyard.

Before I even got close, I heard a loud argument and a child crying.

Two groups of people are facing off in front of a nearly perfect Leyland cypress.

On one side was a fat man in a suit and tie, with a large belly, and a similarly chubby little boy.

On the other side was Jessica, the young, hot mom who had just spent fifty dollars on a wooden knife and even groped him. The little boy she was holding was still tightly clutching the wooden knife with the bullet casing in his hand.

At that moment, the two little boys were each holding onto a branch of the tree, pulling on it like they were in a tug-of-war, their faces red and covered in tears and snot.

"Let go! I chose this tree first!" Jessica's son brandished his wooden sword, looking menacing.

The chubby boy, not to be outdone, used his size to cling tightly to the tree trunk: "I want this one! I want this one! Dad, give him the money and tell him to get lost!"

The fat man impatiently pulled out his wallet, ripped out a wad of bills, and looked at Jessica with disdain.

"Did you hear that? My son has his eye on it, so this tree belongs to him! I have plenty of money; I'll pay double!"

Upon hearing this, Jessica laughed out loud in anger, lightly flicking her wavy hair with her red-nailed fingers, her eyes full of disdain:

"Double? As if nobody else gets any!"

She simply pulled a wad of bright green hundred-yuan bills from her limited-edition bag and waved them around.

"Are you the only rich person in the world? I'll pay four times the amount!"

The woman standing next to Jessica tugged at her arm and whispered a word of advice:

"Jessica, there's no need to lower yourself to his level!"

"Anyway, we picked the one first!"

"Let's wait for that young man who was on TV to come, and let him be the judge!"

"If he's only after money, then we might as well not buy this Christmas tree!"