Everyone knows that America is a major agricultural country and a strong agricultural power, annually producing corn, soybeans, sorghum, wheat, cotton, and other crops.
However, few people know that this agricultural giant is also a country with a severe shortage of agricultural products.
Starting in the 1940s, America achieved mechanized grain production, further improving it in the late 1960s, and completing the full mechanization of all stages from planting to harvesting for cash crops in the early 1970s.
One could say it maxed out all its skill points in mechanized agriculture.
The consequence of this was that America’s agriculture directly adopted a rough and bold approach.
For delicate crops, American farmers would struggle.
Therefore, America spends huge sums each year importing fruits, vegetables, nuts, and grains like oats and buckwheat.
Coffee, in particular, is almost entirely dependent on imports.
This is like a multiple-choice question: staple foods, meat/eggs/dairy, and fruits/vegetables.
Which one do you prioritize?
America clearly chose meat, eggs, and dairy, so a quarter of the country’s land is planted with corn, and a third with soybeans.
In America, meat, eggs, and dairy are so cheap they’re practically free, but fruit and vegetable prices are outrageously high, almost a luxury.
Many Americans might not even get to luxuriously eat vegetables once a month; their vegetable intake relies solely on the pitiful few leaves in sandwiches and burgers.
The vegetable salads commonly seen in TV shows are a daily extravagance only 30% of Americans can afford in reality.
It’s no wonder America’s obesity rate has been soaring, a sweet burden directly caused by an unhealthy diet.
This is also a reflection of the large wealth gap.
To put it bluntly but realistically, the dogs of the wealthy eat better than most of the middle class, just like those of the Arlington Family.
“Rogue.” “Woof.” Like an arrow shot from a bow, he leaped up and caught the large apple Ernst threw, taking it into his mouth.
Whitney Farm’s main fruit products are grapes and citrus, but it also cultivates over twenty types of fruit trees.
However, these fruits and vegetables are for self-consumption.
Any surplus is sold at fair prices in the town, which is why the Arlington Family holds great prestige in the town.
“Good boy, here’s another one.” Ernst picked another large apple, threw it far, and then watched a short-legged dog sprint out, its short legs churning rapidly.
Just as he was having fun, a rough voice came from afar, “You brat, I told you to go feed the cows, how dare you come mess with my orchard!” Upon seeing the person, the image of a barrel, complete with a skin, instantly appeared in Ernst’s mind—it was just too similar.
John Arlington, Ernst’s maternal grandfather.
Besides being a bit overweight, the old man didn’t look like someone who was almost 70 years old at all.
“There’s so much, and we can’t eat it all,” Ernst pouted, completely unfazed by the other person’s roar, and continued to pick an apple and throw it out, doing as he pleased.
Rogue, who had just run back and was squatting in front of him, looking at him eagerly, once again shot out like a wild horse, wagging his tail as he ran.
Then Ernst felt a heavy force on his backside, almost making him fall flat on his face.
“You brat, do you want another beating?” His fierce expression couldn’t hide the smile at the corner of his mouth.
Everyone at Whitney Farm knew that, besides his dogs, John’s favorite was Ernst.
The day Ernst arrived home, John was so happy that he slaughtered a cow and two sheep, throwing an incredibly lively farm carnival night.
The last time there was such a grand event was when Rogue had his late-life puppies.
Aria and Sylvie had complained more than once that, in John’s heart, neither of them ranked as high as the dogs.
Every time the dog kennel had a litter, John would stand guard there.
This kind of treatment was something Aria didn’t even receive when she gave birth to Sylvie.
“Hurry up and feed the cows!
It’s okay if you’re hungry, but the cows can’t be hungry!” Ernst rolled his eyes.
Who said he could be compared to a dog?
He casually picked another apple, whistled, and Rogue trotted happily after him, leaving together.
John watched Ernst’s retreating figure, a smile almost overflowing from his face.
Although he had never said it to Ernst’s face, almost everyone in town knew that Ernst had always been John’s pride.
Graduating from a top university, becoming a nationwide bestselling author at a young age, and now breaking into Hollywood to become a power holder at MGM.
As for Ernst’s scandalous news, in his opinion, it was merely youthful exuberance.
Who hasn’t been young and done some absurd things?
At least in the town, everyone cheered for Ernst, with a strong sense of upholding their town’s prestige.
In their view, none of these big city people had pure hearts, and they should be thoroughly crushed.
If they couldn’t be crushed, then their wives or daughters should be thoroughly crushed.
Arriving at the livestock area, the cattle on the pasture had already begun their leisurely day, strolling in groups across the grass, occasionally flicking their tails, looking quite content.
Not far away, bales of hay were scattered on the ground, and workers were busy transporting and spreading the hay.
Someone drove a pickup truck with specialized equipment attached.
As the pickup moved, the hay spread across the pasture like scattered flowers.
Even though it’s summer and the pasture grass is tall, the herders have their own cattle-raising experience; they rarely let beef cattle graze directly in the pasture area.
This is because cows are generally lazy.
Once they find food, they won’t move until they’ve cleared away all the delicious food in front of them, which can damage the roots of the pasture grass.
“Ernst, I thought without the gentle embrace of a Hollywood actress, you’d be sleepless and still sleeping in.” A cowboy’s teasing caused everyone around to burst into laughter.
Ernst glared at him, not backing down, “Is that why you can only use your five fingers every day?
Then I’d rather not get up early every day.” “You brat, I told you that was youthful ignorance!
It’s been over ten years, and you’re still bringing it up!” A man nearing forty flushed, and the laughter around grew even more boisterous.
It was just past six in the morning, the sun barely peeking out, and the air was still damp.
For city dwellers, this was the time for deep sleep, but the cowboys had already been working for an hour.
They had to drive the cows out of the pens by five and feed them hay after cleaning the cow shed.
In winter, it could be a bit more humane, and starting work after seven was fine.
Yawning, Ernst stretched, “I’d love to sleep, but there’s a human alarm clock at home who’s full of energy every day.
Who can sleep?” The human alarm clock Ernst was complaining about was John.
The old man had a peculiar hobby: the first thing he did every morning was stand at the main gate and sing loudly.
He boasted that he had a great talent for bel canto when he was young, and he loved it very much.
Unfortunately, his great-grandfather crushed this dream, otherwise, America would have seen a world-shocking tenor.
Whether it’s true or not, being more punctual than a rooster’s crow every morning is definitely true.
“What should I do?” “You go spread the corn.
We can do it simultaneously.” Feeding cows only grass isn’t enough; they also need a lot of grain.
Anyone who has watched American dramas knows that corn is the best feed for beef cattle.
The corn kernels are crushed by a machine and loaded into a vehicle, then spread evenly over the already laid hay using a tool.
No one needed to teach Ernst; he was a farm kid and had done these things many times when he was young.
There was no concept of waste or not waste; the main goal was a large quantity to fill them up, simple and crude.
In America, livestock farming has only one motto: as long as they don’t die from eating, then feed them until they almost die from eating.