Since his was just a family farm, without all of the expensive equipment the larger outfits had, the unseasonal weather meant that most of this year’s crop would die.
Frank looked out over the frost-covered buds and saw a vision of his own frosty corpse.
“What are we going to do?” asked Harriet, Frank’s wife. “Cut down the trees and sell firewood?”
It was her joke, the one that she always said. But this time, it didn’t sound as funny.
“How do you feel about retirement?” asked Frank.