American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

"A forging competition reality show?"

Fett's heart skipped a beat.

Is it a sword forging competition?

"As far as I know, it seems to be a competition between several knifemakers, and the winner will receive a prize of ten thousand US dollars!" George excitedly explained while gesturing.

"Ten thousand US dollars?"

Fett raised an eyebrow, already certain in his mind: Ten thousand great swords? No doubt about it, it's definitely a sword-forging competition.

He suppressed his joy and nodded to George:

"That sounds interesting. I'll keep an eye on it. Thanks, George."

"Don't forget to bring your knife! I'll be waiting for you!"

As George waved goodbye warmly, Fett pushed open the door and stepped into the cold night.

Once back in the warm Chevrolet Equinox, Fett didn't rush home. Instead, he drove around the town center of Lake Village twice.

As Christmas approaches, the atmosphere along the streets changes.

Several old Victorian-style houses were brightly lit.

The lawn in front of the house was filled with all sorts of visitor vehicles, and laughter and music could be faintly heard coming from inside.

This is the lively atmosphere unique to American family gatherings.

As he passed the Walmart shopping center at the edge of town, Fett slowed down and stopped.

At this time, the supermarket was already closed, but the gardening area at the entrance was piled high with freshly delivered Christmas trees, wrapped in green plastic netting.

A huge yellow promotional poster was pasted on the fence:

"Direct shipping from Oregon, Douglas Fir - from $49.99!"

"Noble Fir - $79.99!"

Fett took out his phone and snapped two clear photos of the price tags through the car window.

Having figured out the details, he didn't linger and stepped on the gas, turning onto the highway back to Yudola.

Forty minutes later, the car headlights swept across the sign of their own farm.

In the pitch-black wilderness, only the lights on in their own farm were on, the light following the gravel path all the way to the porch of the main house, appearing especially warm in the cold wind.

Fett got out of the car, pushed open the heavy iron gate, drove the car in, and parked it steadily in front of the garage.

Pushing open the door, a wave of heat hits you.

Frank was sitting on the sofa watching a replay of football on TV, holding a can of lager beer in his hand.

"You're back?"

"I'm back."

Fett shook off the chill from his coat and closed the door.

"Was the girl safely delivered home?"

"It's delivered." Fett took off his boots.

"Where's the car? Did you manage to bump into someone with it?"

"Don't worry, it's perfectly fine."

"That's good."

Fett took a can of beer from the refrigerator and sat down next to Frank.

"I've looked at the rates at Walmart."

Fett took the bag of salt and vinegar chips that Frank handed him, which had already been opened, and read out the prices: "Douglas fir, $50; Noble fir, $80. They're all bundled up and ready to go. You can buy them and go."

"So low?"

Frank frowned, his grip on the beer can cracking, and sighed, "The big supermarkets are buying in bulk, driving down prices. Business is going to be tough this year."

"uncertain."

Fett shook his head, chewing on a potato chip, savoring the sour and salty taste mixed with the effervescence of the beer:

"If we want to sell Christmas trees, we first need to know our target audience."

"I took a walk around Lake Village. I saw many families having gatherings, and the parking lots were full of relatives' cars."

"For these families who value tradition, it's just too uninspiring to go to that cold Walmart parking lot and pick up a tree wrapped in a plastic net like a corpse."

"What they lack is not the few dozen dollars, but the atmosphere of 'the whole family going to the forest to cut down trees'."

"That's true." Frank nodded. "Even in the coldest years, regular customers would drive here with their kids just to have some fun."

"So, I have an idea."

Fett put down his spoon, leaned forward, and looked at Frank:

"We don't compete with Walmart on price; we compete on connections."

"How do you spell it?"

"I was thinking of offering a 'referral' discount."

Fett gestured on the table with his finger:

"We give a few 'friends and family cards' to each of our regular customers who come to buy trees from us."

"As long as they can recommend their relatives and friends to buy trees from our farm."

"That is, to bring people who live in the city and originally planned to buy trees from the supermarket to our place."

"New customers get a $10 discount with their card."

"And for the old customer who referred them, we directly give him a few dollars in cash, or a discount on the trees he buys next year."

Fett smiled:

"Christmas is the time when relatives visit each other the most. Who doesn't have three or five relatives who want to buy trees?"

"If just one loyal customer says a word about the rebate, our sales can snowball and double."

"Dad, what do you think?"

Frank's eyes lit up when he heard the plan.

A smile appeared on his face:

"You little brat..."

Old Frank patted Fett on the shoulder, his tone filled with emotion and undisguised pride:

"It seems your mother made the right decision."

"Back then, she insisted on arguing with me and even spent all her savings to send you to that damn private school in Little Rock..."

"These tuition fees over the past ten years have definitely not been in vain."

When Frank brought it up again, Fett paused, holding his beer, as he recalled his mother from the original owner's memories.

The woman who always ironed her collar perfectly and desperately wanted her son to become a lawyer or a doctor.

To achieve this goal, back when the original owner was in elementary school, she resolutely moved with him to the capital city of Little Stone City, 200 kilometers away.

Later, the original owner went to high school, which made her even more distant from Eudora.

For more than a decade, only during Christmas and summer vacation each year would the old pickup truck briefly take them back to Eudora's farm.

It wasn't until this summer, when Fett's academic transcripts, high enough to get her into a top university, arrived at her rented home, that she finally breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to move back to the farm to spend her later years with her husband.

However, just four months ago...

A car stolen by robbers went out of control on the highway and crashed into her, who was waiting for her old pickup truck by the roadside.

The ambulance took the person away, and not long after, the hospital issued a death certificate.

The robber abandoned the car and fled, and has not been caught to this day. The police file only has a "under investigation" stamp, and that's how the case ended.

The car insurance policy that the original owner saw when sorting through his belongings, as I recall it.

Next to the "Uninsured Motorist Coverage" option, the box is checked to "Deny".

In order to save more than $100 in premiums so that her son could eat better, she gave up the coverage.

There was no insurance compensation, nor was there any compensation from the perpetrator.

In the end, only the Arkansas Road Traffic Accident Social Assistance Fund sent a check, which barely covered the rescue costs.

Although he had never actually met that woman since he transmigrated, the feelings imprinted in the original owner's memories were undeniable.

Both father and son fell silent.

In the corner of the living room, the old-fashioned color television was still loudly playing a replay of the football game between the University of Arkansas Wild Boars and the University of Missouri Tigers from a few days ago.

The room was filled with the commentator's excited shouts and the enthusiastic cheers of tens of thousands of spectators.

"...Touchdown! Another touchdown! 21-14! The Arkansas Wild Boars have completed an incredible comeback!"

Fett didn't say anything, but silently raised the beer in his hand to mid-air.

Frank across from him also raised his beer.

He looked at Fett, his back to the television screen celebrating victory, his eyes slightly red, his voice low and hoarse:

"Respectfully dedicated to your mother."

"Respect for Mother".

Two aluminum cans touched lightly in mid-air, making a crisp "clang" sound.

The father and son tilted their heads back, their Adam's apples bobbing, and drank the bitter, icy liquid in the jar in one gulp.

"See you tomorrow, Dad."

Fett put down the crushed empty can and stood up.

"Um."

Frank turned his gaze back to the television, only adding casually as Fett walked to the door:

"The weather forecast says there will be another cold snap tonight."

"If it's cold, light the little fireplace in your room; the firewood is in the basket."

Fetie nodded and pushed open the door to return to his bedroom.

The room was as cold as an icebox.

Fett glanced at the dark cast-iron fireplace in the corner, then at the window cracks sealed with duct tape for insulation, and instinctively shivered.

Three days ago, the original owner, because she was afraid of the cold, kept the doors and windows tightly closed and burned damp wood in this fireplace all night. That's why she never woke up from the dream woven by carbon monoxide and left this body to him.

He didn't want to repeat the same mistake.

Fett changed into his pajamas, crawled straight into the thick wool comforter, and then covered himself with an old blanket.

He pulled out the Dell laptop he had just bought in college from under his pillow.

With a soft hissing sound as the mechanical hard drive booted up, the screen lit up, its pale blue light illuminating his breath.

Open Google and type "History Channel".

The page loads very slowly.

In a corner of a pile of information about "Pawnshop Star" and "Ancient Aliens," Fett found that inconspicuous recruitment post:

Forged in Fire – A search for America’s best bladesmiths!