It wasn't a normal season.
And a lot of the tofu-eaters had died on those farms in the middle of winter when they didn't ration their heating oil well enough and were stuck in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard and they couldn't even walk to their local emergency shelter for food and a place to sleep out of the killer cold.
Nine farms, recall. Two, Bob had managed through finagling to hold onto. I won't give the list of destruction that those tofu-eaters did to my farms. What I will say is that three of the seven died over the winter. Two of the other four only survived because they made it to Bob and he kept the grasshoppers alive.
The other two weren't bad folk. They're still my farm managers.
In Zone One, that is the great-white-north, that was about the rate. Three in seven of those "government cooperative farmers" died. So did all their livestock. It ripped the guts out of one of the most productive agricultural areas of our nation.
Going further south they survived in higher numbers. In a way that was worse. They were there to fuck things up.
Okay, let's return to Blackjack since we've used that before.
They manage to pull a good bit of their population through the Plague. The farmers in the community (and it's a heavy farming area) are looking at the forecasts. Cotton is a dead letter for the time being. People aren't buying new clothes. Food is the key for 2020 and although it's still summer of 2019, they're looking in their crystal balls. They've also looked at 2019 and have laid in their crops. Corn, wheat because the temperature regimes are going to be good for wheat in Georgia. (Wheat was not a major crop in Georgia prior to the Freeze. It's now one of our big wheat producers.) Potatoes. Soy because there's all sorts of things you can do with soy.
Some of them are seed farmers. They only produce seed. They get the base stock seeds from a seed company and plant those. The "harvest" is actually different from the base stock and that's what gets planted to make food and the harvest from that is different than what you get when you plant the seeds. (Trust me. It's complicated. I've given enough classes, I'm not going to give one in transform genetics. I'll just say it's not fucked up, it's how plants work. Period.) I don't mean it's a different species. It's just you wouldn't want to try to make bread from the stuff the seed companies send them to plant to make next year's seeds. You don't even want to make bread from the seeds. (Gluten content is wrong.)
So, they've got the seed in the ground. They've found sources for pesticides. They're ready to rock in what farmers do best; watching money grow out of the ground.
They first hear from the seed company. It's been nationalized. Not sure what that's going to mean except we've been told no genmod. We pointed out that the seed for next year is already in the ground and it's all genmod. They're in meetings. I have my pink slip. See ya.
Then the sheriff comes around looking pissed.
Farm's been nationalized. You gotta get out.
This has been in my family for generations. The hell you say.
I don't like it. Don't get stupid. Too many dead already.
Where go?
Parrish family died. House is in county hands. No buyers. Move there. Ten acres. Best I can do. Take personal stuff. Furniture even. No farm equipment.
So they move over to the Parrish house. And they look around at the belongings of people they knew through their kids going to school together. There are pictures on the walls. All the people are dead.
They take the pictures down. They move the Parrish furniture out into the storage shed. They put in theirs. They put the cans of food they've brought from home up on the shelves. They figure out how to get a new house going.
They walk five miles to town. They go to the feed store. There's a lot of other farmers in there, bitching. There's talk of revolting but it's just talk. There's a lot of "The South Shall Rise again" but the world's already a fucked up enough place and they know it. They're ants. If the South is going to Rise Again it's gonna have to be fed, first.
There's seed in the feed store. It's not much but there's seed. Most of the good stuff is getting stripped, fast. The feed store owner is pretty damned tight and he's not tied into the whole "futures" thing. But he gets another loan from the bank, which is only holding on from the government propping it up, and he buys more seed. He gets orders in advance and he lets people he knows buy on credit. Long-term credit.
There's a shortage of seed but what the hell.
There's a program that people who are farming can get gas for their tractors and combines. If you're a registered farmer. If you're a registered farmer and not tied into the "nationalization program" you're likely to be out on your ass.
People pool their gas rations. There's barely enough. There's a certain amount of "scrounging" and some finagling by local gas providers. But tractors get filled. Horses become a primary means of transportation.
Ten acres ain't much, unless you're a very smart farmer. Then you can do a lot with ten acres. There's land that hasn't been tilled in a long time. It's not great, but you're a pretty decent farmer. You get more credit for herbicides to kill the grass. You do soil samples. You have to get them tested through the county agent but you're not a registered farmer so you're waiting a while. In the meantime, you're planning.
Also in the meantime the "government cooperative farmer" has arrived at the farm. This is a "grade A" farm on the list the USDA keeps. It's gone to well-connected tofu-heads. Call it a former female marketing executive who specialized in promoting organic farming and her husband the lawyer, also an "agricultural expert." They've both been on the soup line a couple of times but mostly they've been able to get along. They don't have children because "they never found the time." As part of their "resettlement package" they've been given extra gas rations to drive to their "resettlement farm" and start a new life as happy farmers in the big wide open.
They arrive to find nothing in the house. Not a damned thing. Some scraps of paper. Everything else is gone. They drive to town to complain to the sheriff. He's to say the least uncaring.
They drive to the county agent's office. He's out and his secretary is less than helpful. They're handed a bunch of pamphlets.
They're low on gas to get to the farm. But they make it. They have, as part of the resettlement package, a bunch of instructions. They attempt to decypher them. "What is soil chemistry?"
They attempt to call the listed, USDA, help center. Their phone has been disconnected. They'll have to drive into town to get it connected. They run out of gas. They are out of gas rations for the time being. (As far as they know. Actually, farmers had plenty of gas but farmers needed it.)
They walk to town. On the surface people are very nice. They find the phone company. They get the phone and electric connected. The gas for heat and cooking is rationed. There's some in the tank. Don't use it up quick.
There is an "emergency food distribution center" at the Baptist Church. They don't like churches but they go there to get food. They explain who they are and that there's no food in the house and that it's a long walk. Reactions are mixed. A few people are hostile. Most smile and say "Bless your heart" a lot. (Southrons never ever say what is truly on their mind. They're very Japanese that way. In this case, "Bless your heart" means "So you're the poltically connected assholes that took over the Beauford farm . . .") A very young lady gives them enough simple foods to last for a few days. They leave. They try to hitch a ride back to the farm. Finally a guy in a pickup truck picks them up and drops them closish. They walk the rest of the way.