Chapter 1: Something Scrumptious Part 2

While farmer Jenkins may have been an irritable man at times, he was very good at what he did for a living—prepping the land for his crops, maintaining his equipment and tools, preparing for planting, and prepping for harvest.

Generally, spending most of his time prepping for all of the tasks that kept his farm prosperous had made him a methodical and careful man when it came to anything regarding the health and bounty of his crops.

This included regular inventory and inspecting all of his crop storage. Farmer Jenkins would make two trips out to his storage warehouses and silos, once in the morning and again at the beginning of dusk.

Then a full inspection of his fields with the other farmhands helping. Regardless of how much his workers would grumble about the hours spent inspecting the crop, they were grateful when they still had jobs in the spring after the regular, bountiful fall harvests.

As Sam, Jack, and Fredrick inspected the other fields this morning, he took to the south lot. He found it an intelligent way to ensure no one got bored checking the same areas repeatedly. It wouldn’t do to have an easily treated disease spread through the crop or an infestation of pests start without notice.

It wasn’t too regular on his farm for such things to occur, especially in his south field for some unknown reason, but it was still better to keep the routine. But, unfortunately, those damned, overgrown, white rats were closest to that field.

He was close to finding their nest, he thought. It didn’t seem that they were living inside his field yet, but they were being sighted more often in the southern area of his farm.

He had asked his fellow farmers on the last market day. The other farmers had only seen the vermin a few times during planting. For some reason, the little bastards seemed to prefer his property over his closest neighbors. Farmer Kvatch even accused him of turning holes into dungeons, as Kvatch hadn’t seen them on his property.

Farmer Jenkins dismissed Kvatch out of hand. As that one routinely didn't tend his crop as closely. His smaller batches of inferior market produce resulted from a man who didn’t pay as much attention.

He was constantly twiddling away on that gi’tar when he should be working his fields. Kvatch was smart; anybody who listened to him spin yarns while he played could tell that, but he was shortsighted about the fruits of his labor and the vegetables too.

It seemed it would be a decent crop this season; the silking of the corn in his southern field was coming along nicely. It would be another few weeks before they were ready for harvest, but thanks to the farmhand’s vigilance, and his own, the few bug problems that were a threat had been spotted and removed.

The fence line had also been inspected to ensure that no damn raccoons had gotten into his fields. That didn't stop the Goomer's, those white-furred nuisances, from getting in, though.

He needed to figure out how they kept getting into his fields. No burrows had been spotted in the areas, and the fences were over three feet tall.

For the expense of putting that damn fence in, it didn't seem to be keeping anything out other than the raccoons. It was exhausting to keep up with all the farm chores, but that was why he had hired two extra hands this year.

The new farmhands, Sam and Jack, seemed willing to work, so they would probably be rehired next season. Fredrick was solid, if a bit slow of thought, and would be welcomed back warmly.

The local farming community was small. Many of the other farm wives were baffled why Jenkins hadn’t taken an interest in some of the still unmatched girls in the area. But, despite their attempted matchmaking efforts, he had escaped remarrying.

He had been in the area for a few years, and his land seemed rather fertile. He was hardworking, healthy, not particularly handsome, but fit from working his fields.

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A little taller than average for the area, his ginger hair and clear complexion were attractive enough, even if his bushy eyebrows looked like angry, furry caterpillars. Grass-green eyes, strong hands, rather gorgeously sculpted legs, and a wiry frame painted the picture of a man who was enjoyable to look at for some. A capable man used to the hard work of the farm.

Overall a desirable match and suitable husband material. Having a family, the farm wives thought, would do his farm and the surrounding area good. In addition, they believed that more little hands to help with some of the endless chores would be cheaper than hiring new hands every year.

While he was polite to the younger women that approached him at market day, and he would even take a turn or two with some of them at a festival dance. He didn’t do the pursuing so much as accept that some more aggressive girls were pursuing him.

The female population at large suspected he was a confirmed bachelor, though some girls appeared determined not to accept this. How was such a man with a stable, prosperous, large property not interested in their feminine charms?

Shaking his head at the games, some of the younger girls tried to entice him into playing; he continued to walk his southern field, checking for pests or damage.

Truthfully, some of the girls were quite pretty and could converse beyond the typical gossiping many their age seemed to enjoy. However, anyone below a certain age seemed fascinated with gossip, even some of a generation that shouldn’t show such interest.

A pretty face and an exciting conversationalist were lovely but of little value compared to his first wife.

She was a fiery woman who worked harder than she should sometimes, taken from him during the battle of childbirth. After the pain of her loss, he hadn’t been interested in replacing her or trying for children again.

Why bother trying to find another woman like her? Rukan had ruled his heart. She had broke it when the tragedy of her passing shattered his world.

This event had moved him to appeal to the local lord of Crook shire for a different piece of land to work. Usually, this request would be unacceptable, but the prosperity of their small farm at the time had encouraged the lord to agree. Mainly to see if this hard-working peasant could reproduce the results with some land from his less productive domains.

Jenkins was paid up on his taxes. His father had done admirable service in Lord Tom’s last border skirmish with a neighboring domain. So, the lord had permitted him.

Farmer Jenkins relieved he wouldn’t be reminded of his former family daily, had worked hard to ensure he could keep away from there. However, the new sections of land came with new responsibilities and kept the darker thoughts away with toil.

Only being allowed to take some seed stock, a few animals and the essential tools encouraged him to focus on bringing his new farmland up to his old standard. Determined not to suffer this loss again, he had kept his affections to himself and thrown himself into his work.

The first few seasons had been lonely, but just what he had wanted. Not wanting sympathy or pity, he had been distant but polite with his neighbors, not explaining why he had moved to this area. Rumors abounded, as they do in small villages.

The neighbors guessed he had just been awarded the land in return for some service to Lord Tom and not pried into his past unduly. They hadn’t needed to ask him directly as it was a small community, and gossip was easy to find, so the truth came out tinged with lies.

They were not unkind lies, considering his circumstances. But, once he had demonstrated he wasn’t a dangerous lunatic or taken to drink excessively, they had let the matter go.

‘Thankful for that,’

He thought as he knelt to inspect a blemish on the base of one of the stalks.

Picking the insect chewing at the stalk, he frowned slightly at the cutworm as he crushed it between his fingers.

Where there was one, there was usually more, and he scoured the surrounding plants to ensure he didn't have an infestation that would take his crops and turn them into so much ruined silage.

He would have to ask Jack if the man had noticed anything during yesterday’s inspection. Jack was as hardworking as any of the other hands, but Jack was a bit of a jackass. Jenkins didn’t want his jackassery to ruin his crops.

Standing again after not spotting any more of the cutworms in the surrounding block of corn, Jenkins brushed his knees and hands off. He moved onto the next block, closer to the fence and the edge of his property. Looking down the fence line, he spotted movement of the earth near the fence line about twenty feet down from where he was standing.

Swearing angrily, he rushed towards the moving earth. He had left his pitchfork near the barn near his northern field. The axe was near the woodshed.

He could at least stomp whatever creature was trying to burrow under his fence. He briefly wondered why he was about to stomp his foot into the burrow of an unknown creature as his foot descended and broke through the earth. Then his foot felt like it was on fire.