CHAPTER ONE
Many had tried to define America’s heartland but few truly understood what it meant. In their town, in their county, they knew that it stretched from Idaho in the west to Iowa and Missouri to the east, and as far south as Arkansas and Texas.
It was thousands of miles of dairy and cattle farms, hundreds and hundreds of acres of necessary crops, and people who had endured more than most humans should have to.
To some, looking out at the wide, flat lands, it seemed boring. Nothing. Bland. To those who lived there, it was paradise. Sunsets that you couldn’t believe were real, falling behind fields of wheat and corn. Illuminating the sky in purples and oranges, the land changing colors as it did.
Sunrises were quiet. No honking taxis or airplanes flying too close to the ground. Crop dusters, tractors, tillers, and other equipment dotted the landscape.
When storms came, there were no shelters to hide in or there was no one to save you but yourself. You could find peace in your basement or cellar, but when you came out of the darkness, you were liable to find your home flattened, your crops gone, and your animals scattered to the wind. Literally.
The heartland was not for the faint of heart. You had to be tough. Summers were brutal and winters were relentless. You were likely to lose your livestock to disease, heat, floods, or famine. Corn could sell at top dollar, or pennies on the dollar. Wheat was even worse.
Don’t even mention the words locusts or pesticide. This was not a place normal people would choose to live.
And yet, some of the toughest, most resilient, hearty people in the country did exactly that. Their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents saw it as a place to raise their families in good, clean air. Making a living providing food for others. Generations of families and friends lining hundreds of miles of land before them.
Some held on for generations. Others. Well, others gave up the minute it became too difficult. The first tornado or hail storm. The first onslaught of grasshoppers, cicadas or other pests that ate through their years’ worth of seed.
Those that stuck it out, those were the people that made up America. Those were the people that didn’t run at the first sign of a new mega-store coming into their county. Those were the people who held out hope that next year would be better. Those were the people that continued to rotate their crops and pray for a more fruitful year, next year.
Theywere the heartland of America. It wasn’t a building or a place. It was the people. The farmers and ranchers who fed those around them suffering through years of no profit only to be told that if they didn’t pay their taxes or change their crops they would lose their land.
But land was valuable. Land was the real commodity to some. The grocery store was the place you bought your flour, corn, steaks, and potatoes. As if it all magically appeared by some food fairy. Those people didn’t understand. They would never understand.
Ernie Paulsen jumped out of his daydream at the sound of the gavel hitting the old table at the front of the room. The town was meeting about another developer determined to buy up seven farms to make way for new subdivisions, highways, and even a country club.
“Who the hell has the money to join a country club around here?” frowned Pat Stotz.
“Mr. Stotz, you would all be wealthy people. You could stay and build a home in the new community or you could move somewhere else,” smiled the slimy man from the development company.
“You aren’t listening. We’ve owned our farms for generations. Generations! Do you have any concept of the blood, sweat and tears our families have poured into these places?
“No. Of course you don’t. Because you think your corn on the cob and apple pie magically appears from a store. What you have no clue about, what you don’t care to have a clue about, is that all of those ingredients come from us. It comes from that land out there and without it, you’re going to have nothing in this state. Nothing!”
“That seems an exaggeration,” smiled the man.
“He’s not exaggerating,” said Ernie. “If our farms die out, it only leaves small farms that can’t handle the demand. We’ll be forced to import our food from other countries. More than we do now.”
“Would that be so bad?” said the woman sitting beside the slimy man.
“Are you drunk?” frowned Ernie. “You’d be paying twice as much for quality that’s half what we give you. You’re putting American farmers out of work. Not just the farmers but the equipment sales, the food processors, the canners, and so on. You’re all delusional.”
That made the man from the land company turn sour. He stared at Ernie, then back at the Mayor and council members who were whispering away from the microphones.
“Listen,” said Mayor Carter. “I think tempers are rising and we’re not getting anywhere. Perhaps we take the information that Mr. Grant and Ms. Morgan have provided for you. They’re prepared to meet with each of you individually if necessary but it seems moot.”
“It’s not moot, Carter,” said Ernie. “It’s our land. Ours! He and his minions are roaming around, measuring, surveying. You think we don’t see it? We’re not bumpkins. We’ve got cameras and electronic equipment of our own.”
Theo Grant and June Morgan stared out at the crowd, squirming in their seats. They hadn’t anticipated any form of advanced security and surveillance.
“It was all preliminary, I assure you. We were just seeing if the land was worth what we believed.” He looked at his partner and grinned. “In fact, in many cases the original values were overstated. We’re being kind by sticking to what we offered you originally.”
“Kind? You think it’s kind to try and run people off their land, off the land their families have worked for decades? Hell, centuries!”
“Mr., uh Paulsen, is it?” Ernie said nothing just staring at the man. “Mr. Paulsen, when the was the last time you actually made a livable profit? I mean, according to the bank records you have two liens on your home now. If you don’t bring your crops in, as anticipated this year, you will lose everything to the bank. Then you have nothing.
“I’m offering you a way to make money. A way to rid yourself of the burden of that land. Buy something big, beautiful and magnificent for you and your family.”
