the ant and the grassho[p]per.

Barrett · 09-06-2011, 04:50 AM

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It felt good to be back. Scratch that--it felt great. Even his thuggish watch dogs were impressed by his latest and greatest acquisition, Jøren. They were also pretty damn excited when he told them about his plans to begin liquor production. There was much cause for celebration that night on the isolated suburban property, but the next morning was surprisingly busy, too... at least on Barrett's end. He had half a mind to just kick back in the gardens and soak up the dwindling summer sun, but he understood there was little time for such tomfoolery. Being early September, he had long missed the prime time for harvesting wheat. If he did manage to brew a successful batch this year, it would be mediocre in quality and insufficient in quantity to trade. But still, it would be practise. And with that experience under his belt and his process closer to streamlined, he would be able to meet the next year head on. He would be able to plant crops local to the garage and begin mass-scale production.

But--as if finding, collecting, transporting, and processing twenty pounds of potatoes and two pounds of (chaffed) wheat wouldn't be enough to worry about--there were plenty of chores to do around the homestead, too. Nothing was too bad off, with Axle and Grit tending to emergency waterings and pest removal, but they left all equipment repairs, harvesting, and curing to the more technically inclined wolf. The earth-toned youth was just finishing up with these tasks when his gaze fell on Jøren, who was grazing quietly in one of the adjacent lots across the street. He supposed a nice cozy stable wasn't a bad idea, either; come winter, the horse would surely appreciate it, whether he was built for Norwegian winters or not. Still, to embark on this project now would probably set him back at least two weeks, even with the help of his goons and the horse itself. He probably had at least a month before he really had to start worrying about it, however, so he resolved to address the surrounding countryside and her bounties first. After loading up the draught animal with his scythe and two buckets, he struck out east in the direction of farmland once claimed by Phoenix Valley.

Using his nose, he tracked down the scent of potato. Thankfully, Julia had tutored him in the entire process, not just tossed the instruction booklet at him and wished him luck. (It helped the two of them had hit it off.) Now, he unsecured the buckets from Jøren's straps and patted him to dismiss him. He set them aside, downshifted to all fours, and began to unearth the small, pale yellow spuds. Quickly covered in loose earth and still digging furiously, he looked more the part of a foraging meerkat than a respectable top predator. Jøren snorted in amusement and wandered off to graze on the side. Meanwhile, Barry picked up his first potato and deposited it with a satisfying plunk! in the bucket. One down, dozens to go! And it was only two hours past high noon.

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