American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

With this in mind.

Fett rummaged through the first-aid kit and found a small pair of scissors and tweezers. Following an online tutorial, he disinfected them and then grabbed a bottle of alcohol.

He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and used tweezers to grasp the end of the thread. With a gentle lift, he separated the knot from his skin, and then precisely inserted the scissors, cutting it off with a "snip."

"hiss--"

The moment the thread was pulled out, the intense, sharp pain caused him to frown.

But his hands didn't stop moving. After all, he had sharpened many wooden knives in the past few days, and his hands were as steady as those of a seasoned surgeon.

One, two... one by one, the black threads were thrown into the trash can.

After pulling out the last thread, Fett wiped the wound with an alcohol swab.

The area where the stitches were just removed still had a row of tiny needle marks, slightly red around them, and you could see tiny drops of blood seeping out, but it dried up quickly.

He stood up and tried to take a few steps. His legs felt a little tight, but as long as he didn't consciously try to feel it, it didn't really affect him.

Fett pulled down his trousers, walked to the window, opened it, and looked over his own fence toward old Johnny's house next door.

That old bastard is really persistent; he knows that if he comes outwardly, he'll be controlled by the video in my hand, so he starts playing dirty tricks.

Cutting down trees, dumping manure, reporting others, sowing discord... one set after another.

Before we could even figure out how to deal with the person who reported our family for tax evasion, they resorted to this underhanded tactic of secretly taking photos to sow discord between our two families.

Fett squinted, calculating in his mind.

According to what he learned from old Frank and Roy.

Old Johnny is a pitiful man too.

His wife ran off with someone more than ten years ago, and his only son, Billy, was also a troublemaker. I heard that he went to the city to join a gang a few years ago and died without even having his body brought back.

Since then, the old man has become increasingly withdrawn and eccentric, always drunk, and his relationship with his neighbors has become increasingly strained.

But that's no reason to let him off the hook.

He has been secretly observing Johnny's farm since yesterday.

His layout was similar to his own, with the main house serving as the boundary, dividing the area into a front yard and a back yard, with farmland outside the back yard.

The front yard of the Fett family's house was quite lively, with a cowshed and chicken coop. The back yard housed farm machinery such as tractors and pickup trucks, and beyond that was the fir forest and a large expanse of farmland.

But Johnny's family is different.

He kept nothing in his front yard except for a few pigs in a corner.

Most of the former courtyard was overgrown with withered, yellow weeds that were half a person tall, with only a path running through it. It was clear that it hadn't been tended to for a long time.

There was no farm machinery in his backyard, but there stood a huge shed made of corrugated steel plates and black felt, completely sealed off on all sides, its purpose unknown.

As for the land outside the courtyard, old Johnny didn't leave it fallow.

As far as the eye can see, there are only dense forests.

However, unlike the landscaped woodland that the Fett family had trimmed by old Frank, the trees there grew in a haphazard and disorderly manner.

One large area of ​​land appeared particularly empty, with only bare tree stumps remaining. It must have been cut down and sold to a large company, just as he had mentioned before.

"strangeness……"

Although he couldn't see any flaws in Johnny's actions immediately, Fett felt that something was off.

Johnny's farm isn't doing very well.

Aside from selling those saplings, they don't grow crops or raise livestock with any economic value. In that situation, most people would have starved to death long ago.

But old Johnny was living a very comfortable life.

Especially the lingering smell of alcohol on him, which couldn't be produced by just a few cans of cheap beer.

It's important to know that Arkansas is a state with strict alcohol regulations.

Those whiskies or bourbons with higher alcohol content are not only subject to higher taxes, but also more expensive.

To maintain that state of being drunk every day, the cost of alcohol alone would be a considerable expense each month.

Where does an old man who doesn't work and lives alone get so much spare money?

"Fett, breakfast is ready!"

Lyra's clear shout pierced through the door, pulling Fett back to reality.

"They're here."

Fett responded, closed the window, and walked out of the bedroom.

At the dining table, Roy was drinking fresh milk in silence, glancing at Fett every now and then. Clearly, the aftermath of the earlier commotion had not yet subsided, and the atmosphere was somewhat somber.

Lyra acted as if nothing had happened, diligently handing Roy bread in an attempt to liven things up, but old Roy just grunted twice and didn't really respond.

Fett didn't say much, and just silently finished his breakfast.

Pushing open the door, a gust of dry, cold wind rushed in. Although there was no sign of rain or snow yet, the wind felt like knives on my face.

The sky is terribly overcast; judging by this, rain or snow is likely to fall this afternoon or evening.

Fett tightened his collar, glanced in the direction of Johnny's house, and plunged into the garage.

The belt sander roared to life again.

Before anyone arrived, he quickly sharpened seven or eight wooden knives and neatly arranged them on the shelf to prepare for the sale.

However, after a long time, the courtyard remained rather deserted, with only a few customers arriving in twos and threes to choose trees, while the usual steady stream of individual customers was nowhere to be seen.

Clearly, the gloomy weather and the impending cold snap deterred many people.

Looking at the somewhat empty yard, Fett patted the sawdust off his hands and turned off the belt sander.

Since there's no business, let's do something worthwhile.

"It's time to start forging the sword."

Although the stitches had been removed and the wound was healing rapidly, Fett decided to take it easy, just to be on the safe side.

The sword forging competition requires five swords, and I currently have four more, except for the "King" Bowie sword.

He was preparing to forge a camping straight knife using that thick spring.

However, that thing was too thick and hard. To completely straighten and flatten that spiral-shaped behemoth, you would have to swing a sledgehammer and smash it hard.

This work is too strenuous. If I use too much force and reopen the newly healed wound, then it would be a huge loss.

Let's put it aside for now.

As for the sword, I'll practice with these knives more and start working on it when I'm in the best condition.

"Let's get the kitchen knife and folding knife made today."

Neither of the knives is very big, especially the kitchen knife. The old circular saw blade that was chosen was made of thin steel plate, so it didn't need much heavy forging. It mainly relied on shaping and polishing.

As for folding knives, although their structure is a bit complicated, the blade is small and the main skill lies in the mechanical handle, which is delicate work, not physical work, making it perfect for this task.

Having made up his mind, Fett pulled out the old files and the circular saw blade from the corner and threw them on the workbench.

"Buzz—"

The blower started, and the flames in the coal stove leaped up joyfully, dispelling the chill in the garage.