readease Chapter 217 The Family's Vegetable Basket
Chapter 217 The Family's Vegetable Basket
Chapter 217 The Family's Vegetable Basket
Bird admitted he'd never heard of the old Eastern proverb, "Why use a sledgehammer to crack a nut?" But he had certainly witnessed firsthand the unconventional operation of using a helicopter to hunt rabbits.
This absurd scene has become a daily must-see for him, even more so than the drinking contests in the town's tavern.
Reflecting on the four days he had spent at Red River Valley Farm, Bird sat on the wooden steps in front of the cabin, hands on his knees, his brow furrowed, filled with a sense of frustration at having accomplished nothing.
As an experienced farm manager, he came here because Ernst had promised to hand over full management of the entire farm to him.
Being able to manage a large farm on his own was something he had always dreamed of when he was working as an assistant to Bearded Dad at Whitney Farm.
But reality has taken a wild turn, like a runaway horse galloping in an absurd direction.
According to Bird's plan, the first day's itinerary was to take stock of the farm's assets, identifying which equipment could still be used and which needed to be included in the purchase list.
The plan went smoothly, although apart from the stables and cattle sheds that couldn't be moved or sold, anything related to machinery was either rusty and wouldn't start, or simply disappeared, leaving the place completely bare.
However, Bird wasn't worried at all. Although most of the equipment had to be purchased from scratch, these were minor issues.
The next day, although the procurement work deviated somewhat from the plan, at least the necessary machinery and agricultural equipment were finally procured in full.
According to his plan, the next step is to plan the farm as a whole, such as what to plant, what to raise, and whether it needs to produce processed products, such as cheese, jam, and wine.
Once the planning scheme is finalized, professional staff will be recruited, and seeds and livestock will be purchased. The Red River Valley Farm will then be able to get on track.
But reality was harsher than anyone else's. For the next two days, the unreliable boss paid no attention to farm operations. Instead, he spent his days flying his brand-new Bell 407 helicopter around the farm, chasing after the rabbits hopping around on the grass.
The roar of the helicopter shattered the tranquility of the farm, sometimes swooping down and sometimes circling to search, and the gunshots coming from the cabin created a scene straight out of an American action blockbuster.
On the first day, the commotion alerted the nearby neighbors. Several families rushed over on horseback, carrying hunting rifles, thinking that the farm had been invaded by outsiders and were ready to come and help.
When they arrived at the farm, they found Ernst sitting in a helicopter, holding a gun, happily hunting rabbits.
The neighbors looked at each other, and finally could only shake their heads and leave with a smile, making Bird, who had been hosting them, feel incredibly embarrassed.
At this moment, Bird looked up at the distant sky again. The helicopter had shrunk to a blurry black dot, but the sound of machine gun fire could still be heard from time to time.
He couldn't help but sigh deeply, gesturing with his hands towards the sky, his heart filled with helplessness: When will this ever end? I'm not here to be a farm manager, I'm here to be a spectator watching the helicopter hunt for rabbits.
He looked down at the endless wasteland in the distance, where the weeds were almost knee-high, and apart from the occasional rabbit darting by, there wasn't a single decent crop in sight.
Bird couldn't help but swear, "What do I manage? There's nothing!"
"Woof!" A clear bark suddenly came from beside his feet, as if in response to Bird's complaint.
He looked down and saw two large, fat dogs, whose breeds were no longer recognizable, wagging their tails and looking at him.
Bird stared at their round bellies, then at their slightly clumsy gait, and couldn't help but cover half his face with a slap, his tone full of disdain. "Ha, herding dogs? With your size, you can barely walk. What good offspring can you possibly produce? You probably won't even be able to catch a rabbit and will only be able to follow behind and pick up rabbit fur."
"Woof~" Perhaps understanding Bird's complaint, the two fat dogs barked aggrievedly, but their tails wagged even more enthusiastically, and they even rubbed their heads against Bird's trouser leg.
Looking at their adorable and endearing appearance, Bird's anger subsided considerably.
And you know what? Despite their poor physical condition, the two little ones are definitely smart.
"Hey Bird, want a steak? It's freshly grilled, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, smells amazing." Tom's gruff voice came from the outdoor grill a few meters away.
Bird turned his head and saw Tom, the black bodyguard, holding a large, sizzling steak with tongs, his face full of a satisfied smile.
Bird glanced at him, shook his head, and said nothing.
Tom didn't mind, and took a big bite of his steak, muttering, "This steak would be perfect with some sauce."
The Bell 407 helicopter that Ernst purchased was originally a seven-seat helicopter, but in order to carry more ammunition, Ernst had two seats removed and converted it into a five-seat helicopter.
So Tom and another of his men, Royce, were left on the ground, just like Bird, doing nothing all day.
However, these two had a much better mindset than Bird, and didn't feel there was anything wrong with this kind of life.
Tom is the type who's happy as long as there's meat in front of him; he can eat from morning till night without ever getting tired of it.
Royce, on the other hand, was a complete movie buff. Whenever he wasn't on a mission, he could sit in front of the TV all day, watching a bunch of videotapes over and over again, without caring about eating or drinking.
All I can say is that their hearts are bigger than each other's.
"Relax, Bird, the boss knows what he's doing." Just as Bird was deep in thought, a slightly hoarse voice suddenly came.
He turned around and was surprised to see Royce, who usually stayed indoors, stepping out of his room with a plate of unfinished popcorn in his hand.
Bird gave a wry smile and replied, "Hopefully, if this keeps going, the grass on the farm will be taller than a person."
Royce sat down next to Bird, casually saying as he played with the two fat dogs at his feet, "We're almost out of bullet casings. I just checked the warehouse, and the rest probably won't last until today."
"What?" Bird instantly turned to look at Royce, his mouth agape. "Didn't you buy two truckloads?"
When Ernst returned from Fremont, his two pickup trucks were packed full of bullets. If he hadn't needed to load other farm machinery and tools, he could have filled all his pickup trucks with bullets.
Royce shrugged, pointed to the helicopter circling overhead, and said helplessly, "No matter how many bullets we have, we can't keep up with this kind of consumption. The boss plays from morning till night without stopping. Sometimes Muller joins in too, and the two of them spray bullets at the rabbit. The bullets are going through faster than water."
Bird thought about it and agreed; it was indeed insane.
It's important to know that Ernst wasn't the only one handling these bullets. Just this morning, Ernst was holding an M249, the helicopter cabin door was open, and Mueller, covered in magazines, was firing an M60.
Otherwise, how could it have felt like an American blockbuster? He even thought Rambo had reappeared.
The next second, Bird's eyes suddenly lit up.
Whether Rambo is Rambo or not is irrelevant to him; he only cares about one thing: they're out of bullets. Ernst should finally stop his rabbit-hunting game and get down to business.
Bird's guess was correct. That afternoon, Ernst did indeed get off the helicopter and immediately stopped Bird, saying he wanted to discuss the farm's future business plans with him.
But after only a few words, Bird was once again bewildered, and the smile on his face froze.
"Ernst, this is a farm," Bird said, looking at the farm map spread out on the table, his tone full of helplessness.
Ernst rolled his eyes and said irritably, "Of course I know this is a farm. If I were in the city, I wouldn't have anywhere to grow these things."
"But isn't there a bit too many kinds?" Bird pointed to the dense writing on the map, feeling his eyes were about to blur.
This map is a simple sketch drawn by Muller and his team over the past few days based on the actual area of the farm. Although it is not very detailed, the general outline of the farm is clear at a glance.
But now this map is almost entirely covered with writing, each character representing a type of crop. Roughly counting, there are nearly a hundred different kinds.
From common crops like wheat, corn, and potatoes to less common ones like quinoa, chickpeas, and tropical fruits, and from various leafy green vegetables to all kinds of berries, even livestock farming plans for cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses, everything is densely packed on the map, resembling a large-scale farmers' market distribution map.
Bird took a deep breath and continued, "Growing so many crops is one thing, but to do deep processing is another. Making wine, blueberry jam, and strawberry jam are common, I can understand that. But peanut butter, oil pressing, and canned fruit—what the heck?"
They also have ham, cured meat, and dried fruit. Are they planning to open a supermarket?
He became more and more excited as he spoke, pointing to the deep processing area on the map: "Do you know that many crops here require careful maintenance? For example, some tropical fruits need to be grown in greenhouses and equipped with professional temperature control and irrigation equipment, which are all significant investments."
"Not to mention processed products, almost every one requires specialized technicians to operate. Have you calculated how many workers are needed and what the cost is?"
Bird initially thought that Ernst was just having a whim and hadn't considered the actual operational issues.
Unexpectedly, Ernst replied with a relaxed expression after hearing his words, "You don't need to worry about that. I never intended for this farm to be profitable."
Bird was stunned. He opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word for a long time.
Not profitable? Then what's the point of buying a farm, purchasing agricultural machinery, and hiring people?
Ernst seemed to sense his confusion and explained, "I bought this farm so that I could eat with peace of mind. In the future, Red River Valley Farm will become the family's exclusive food basket. Every year, the crops grown and the processed products will be delivered from here to the kitchens of every family member."
"As for costs and profits, they are not even within my consideration."
After hearing this, Bird was completely dumbfounded, with only one thought in his mind: Well, now it's not just helicopters hunting rabbits, this farm is probably going to become a food base exclusively for the wealthy.
My responsibility is to manage the farm so that it is profitable, not to supervise the workers.
Looking out the window at the two fat dogs still frolicking on the grass, I glanced at Ernst again.
I wonder if it's too late to back out now?
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