In America, if you want to talk about where the folk customs are the most simple and honest, it must be the countryside.
Only here can you deeply feel what it means that distant relatives are not as good as close neighbors, completely without the intimidating distance and unfamiliarity of big cities; people wish they could seamlessly connect with each other, with the sense of distance disappearing without a trace.
But when it comes to indifference, the countryside of America also takes the lead.
They generally don’t show a good face to outsiders, almost as if they’ve seen invaders, always ready for a fight.
Actually, this is not difficult to understand; capital is quite ruthless, leaving no way for farmers to survive.
When it comes to schemes and tricks, these farmers, as simple as blank paper in the face of capital, are no match for the urban elites.
The result is that they are played around by the other party, many ending up in tragic circumstances of broken homes and lost families, unable to keep their land.
Such examples are abundant in the countryside, everywhere you look.
Therefore, the countryside of America is quite exclusive of outsiders; they see everyone as cunning and greedy jackals from Wall Street, always on guard.
Although California is not as rugged as Texas, where everyone carries a gun on their hip, looking like they walked straight out of a Western cowboy movie, the fierce expressions still make people feel uneasy.
Sure enough, not long after the car drove into the town of Visalia, a town resident driving a Chevrolet pickup that had changed hands who knows how many times blocked Ernst’s car with an imposing air.
This scene would make even robbers feel inferior and bow down.
“What are you doing?
We don’t welcome outsiders here.
If you’re passing through, turn back to the fork in the road and turn left.” Fifty-something, with a full beard, his voice was so loud that even a few meters away, Ernst felt his eardrums being hammered by a small mallet.
The driver quickly turned to look at Ernst, his eyes full of inquiry.
Ernst just smiled slightly, opened the car door, and stepped out.
“In Visalia, it’s truly the first time someone has dared to block my path.” “Kid, today I’ll teach you a lesson…
Wait, Ernst?” Before the word ‘lesson’ was fully out, the other party recognized him.
“Oh~, I didn’t expect our big star from Visalia to be back.
John and Aria will be thrilled, and Sylvie will surely be overjoyed.” John Arlington and Aria Arlington are Ernst’s maternal grandparents, and the somewhat fierce-looking redneck in front of him is Linland, a twenty-year veteran employee of Ernst’s family, who watched Ernst grow up.
Immediately after, a super bear hug that almost squeezed Ernst’s internal organs out came; this is the redneck’s unique greeting, so enthusiastic it’s a bit overwhelming.
“Come with me quickly, take my car back.” He didn’t feel inferior at all because his pickup was old and dilapidated; instead, he looked at the Cadillac Ernst was sitting in with a look of disdain.
“What kind of broken car is this?
Ernst, you must know, for us, the only means of transportation are pickups and horses.” Ernst smiled helplessly, signaling to the driver that he could leave.
When he walked to Linland’s car, he found several sick-looking puppies in a cage in the back, all listless and lying in the cage.
“What’s wrong with them?” “Alas, don’t mention it, they got parvovirus.
Luckily, it was discovered early, otherwise, the entire kennel would have been affected.” From May to August each year, dogs have to go through a close call with death; it’s the peak season for parvovirus.
“Are they cured?” A smile appeared on Linland’s face, “Just picked them up from George.
They’re a bunch of poor little guys, only three months old.” George is the only veterinarian in town.
He was already a vet here when Ernst was a child.
After all these years, it’s still him, which makes him a senior figure in the town.
He got into Linland’s dilapidated pickup.
The passenger seat was already worn smooth and greasy to the touch, though it was unclear if other activities usually took place on that seat.
Besides the battle-damaged interior, the car was also filled with a persistent dog smell that wouldn’t dissipate.
Even with all the windows open and the strong wind rushing in once the car started, the smell stubbornly clung to the interior.
This is closely related to Linland’s profession; he is not an ordinary farmer employed by the Arlington Family, but a very skilled dog trainer.
The Arlington Family’s farm covers a huge area, over forty thousand acres, spanning three towns, but most of it is within Visalia.
The farm mainly grows grapes, not for eating but for winemaking.
The entire vineyard is over 15,000 acres and has its own winery.
In addition to grape cultivation, Whitney Farm also produces citrus, but the yield cannot compare to grapes, being around 2,000 acres.
This is also one of Whitney Farm’s main cash crops.
Furthermore, Whitney Farm also raises about 1,500 Angus cattle, 3,000 sheep, over 10,000 chickens, and 3,000 rabbits.
Finally, there are herding dogs and horses.
There are very few horses, mostly for their own use, and any surplus is usually only sold to nearby small towns.
However, there are many more herding dogs, about 400 sheepdogs and cattle dogs combined, all managed by Linland and his two apprentices.
For example, the American Pit Bulls in the back of the truck are one of the main breeds.
Besides the Pit Bulls, there are also Border Collies and Corgis.
That’s right, Corgis!
Who would have thought this short-legged dog would be an excellent cattle herder?
In the West, there is a type of dog collectively called ‘Heeler dogs,’ which translates to dogs that specifically bite heels.
Among them, Border Collies and Corgis are the most common Heeler dogs.
Heeler dogs are usually small in stature, mostly short-legged, which makes it difficult for cattle to kick them.
Their small size also makes it easy for them to move through the herd.
Whenever cattle need to be moved, they gently nip at the cattle’s heels to control their direction of movement.
“Ernst, I read in the newspaper that you acquired MGM?
Became the big boss of MGM.” With a mischievous look, “Are Hollywood actresses very exciting?
Are they very good in bed?” Swallowing, Linland looked yearningly, “I wonder if I’ll ever have the chance in this life to sleep with a Hollywood actress.
Then I’d be completely content.” Ernst had no mind to listen to what he was saying, because Linland was driving so erratically, “If you don’t watch the road ahead, you’ll probably be the last person I ever sleep with.” Linland glanced ahead, straightened the slightly veering car, and then, as if nothing had happened, continued gossiping.
“Don’t they say Hollywood has red sofas?
Is that really true?
Do those actresses really strip naked and wait to be favored when they see a red sofa during auditions?” “Hehe, you must have tried it, right?
You’ve been a little pervert since childhood, always loving to burrow into the arms of big-chested women.” Ernst felt embarrassed, it really was like he was bringing up exactly what he shouldn’t.
“Your Aunt Millie used to say that you, little fellow, would definitely grow up to be a pervert.
Every time she held you when you were little, you’d cling to her and wouldn’t let go.” Millie is Linland’s wife.
She was also a beauty in her youth, and it’s a mystery how Linland managed to win her over.
Clearing his throat, Ernst eased the awkwardness and quickly changed the subject, “This car must be over ten years old, right?
How about I buy a few of the latest Ford F-150s for you all to use then?” “Replace our cars?” Linland paused, “Why?” This is the redneck way of thinking: no reward without merit, and also implying there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
Why?
Of course, to shut your foul mouth.