Smallville Farmer Novels & Stories

“It could take it all away we will get you better and we will get you out of the city,” He stopped. “He’d kill me for sure,” he shook his head. “No he won’t, he hasn’t found anybody else,” I looked over at Marco who shook his head back. I saw him realize that freedom was at his fingertips, he looked between all of us, eyeing the needle like the drug it was. “It’s off in a dairy farm on the outskirts of town the farmer had some outstanding debts and an old bunker under his house,” He gave up the info I handed over the syringe and soon all his troubles were gone.

“I’ve been talking to a guy who owns a big regenerative farm up near Santa Ynez. Couple thousand acres. Grass-fed cattle, orchards, the whole thing. He wants a partner who’s willing to get his hands dirty and has cash to invest.” Juno stared at me for a solid five seconds, then burst out laughing. “You’re serious. You want to quit the NHL to go play farmer.” “Play farmer?” I grinned. “Woman, I grew up breaking horses on my grandpa’s ranch every summer. I can drive a tractor before breakfast and still out-skate half the league.” She was still giggling. “I’m trying to picture you in overalls and a cowboy hat.” “Overalls are optional. Cowboy hat is mandatory if you’re gonna ride me on the tailg

he swerved right into the cobblestone path that led to the farm sitting close to the hills. The low sounds of cattle echoed in the far-distance, the truck slowing as my eyes took in the greenery bordered by wooden fences. “This is it,” Chris said, removing the keys while reaching for the baseball cap in the backseat. “Stay right here,” “Why do I have to stay here when—” Chris’s eyes cut to mine. “It is hot outside and I am close friends with the owner of the farm and want to have a little conversation with him. Don’t worry…I will handle everything,”

Close enough that the farmer pressed back against the crate, shoulders hunching. "You're going to that meeting," Marc said. Low. Controlled. "You're going to act like nothing's changed. You take the supply. You bring him to us." "I—I can't—" "You can." Marc's hand shot out, gripped the farmer's collar, and yanked him forward. "Because if you don't, your family starves anyway. You understand me?" The farmer nodded. Fast. Terrified. "Say it." "I understand." Marc released him. The farmer sagged, gasping.

Beyond the trees lining the lane are fields that extend for acres and acres. My dad farmed this land when I was little, and now Kevin helps. Together they've acquired more and more acreage. The day of small farmers existing on their own is almost gone, but with more land and more acres of crops, it's still possible. They’re even renting a portion to a cell tower. The money is good and more importantly, my cell phone actually works here now. The crunching gravel creates a dust wake as we make our way toward the house.

After that, he walked over to say hello to the farmers and motioned for me to come along as he started showing me around the big fields. I watched the farmers who had been bending over working on the plants just a little while before they hurry over to meet us. They weren't scared; they were happy to both keep working and say hello to Zeke. An old man came first. He had deep lines on his sun-tanned face and gray hair sticking out from under a straw hat. Zeke patted him on the shoulder and spoke to him. He asked about the sugarcane’s condition and how the recent rains had affected the growth of the crops. He also asked when they expected to start harvesting. Their conversation flowed naturall

I stand before you and say, "I brought you breakfast." He sits back down and grabs the package that's been handed to him by me. "Aren't you going to wash those dirty hands of yours?" I inquire while glancing at his dirty fingers. "I'm a farmer. We're like Neanderthals," he chuckles while giving a sly wink to the side of his cheek. "There is something even worse that settles into me after a day at the farm," the farmer said. I utter the word "gross" when I see him take a big chunk out of his breakfast wrap while simultaneously using his dirty hands.

Eddie needed to be released back to his family. Farmer Jim was the only farmer in the county producing corn. Farmer Sam was also killed with a rifle. Farmer Sam started planting corn after Farmer Jim was killed. Farmer Jim was dead and now someone needed to plant corn to supply the moonshiners. At the beginning of the harvest, Farmer Sam was discovered shoot and killed in the middle of his field. His wife Julie was worried when he did not come home for supper. Julie looked for him in the barn and he was not there. Finally, she walked into the field and found him dead. The Sheriff investigated and determined that Sam was shot with a rifle.

Never. I pulled into the yard, crawling the car up past Carlson’s house and into my familiar spot at the side of the feed barn. Carlson was already out, shifting woodchips from one bin to another. My stomach did a little lurch at the sight of him. He wasn’t old, mid-fifties at most, but he looked defeated. A haggard old man in the frame of someone in his prime. He looked as though he was made from the land. A proper farmer type, with a kindly face and weathered hands… and just lately with eyes that proved a little too much.

I can’t see his expression, but it’s obvious he’s seen us. Exactly what we don’t want to happen. Three giant black wolves and a human loitering around an abandoned farmstead? There’s not a chance in hell he isn’t going to call the cops. The farmer backtracks, circling back toward his house, although he keeps glancing over his shoulder at us. Fucking fuck. That’s going to bite us in the ass later.