After a few days of beans, no one is feeling well. My mom said there was dried beef, but in frontier times, because they didn’t have fridges, you layered meat into barrels with layers of salt. Usually this preserved it okay, but if it didn’t work, you could die from the bacteria that lives in spoiled meat.
Gavin was like, “So you’re saying that all summer, our choices are beans. . . or death?”
I have to say I was laughing pretty hard at that.
We’re supposed to have eggs, but Gavin hasn’t been able to convince the killer chickens to lay any. And we’re supposed to have milk––Ron said he’d give us a cow next week.