Ethereal Agriculture, # 3— “Soy Sauce, and What it Seems”

“One goat a year?”

“And approximately three chickens.”

Baker moaned.

“Split between the three of us, of course,” said Jerrick.

Baker was sick of eggs being the only source of protein, and he pined continuously for bacon, along with medium-rare beef anytime he wanted. Nevermind the diabolical savor of fast-food burgers— give him some good grease, for Christ’s sakes.

Nothing came easily. Golden Apple farm’s produce wasn’t especially good, but as long as someone in the Universe wanted their carrots, transporting it via the Willow Portal would result in Coin.

The seasons of farming passed strangely, here, on the plane of Flora. On Terra, in his sheltered life in a First World Country, Baker was accustomed to things like hot showers and refrigeration and electric ovens, and so many other things he took for granted like salad dressing, salted butter, cheap beef and chicken. Bacon, flavorful cereal, effortless cold milk, soap and shampoo. Laxatives, cold pop, orange juice, and don’t even mention the TV and Internet. They had a dog that ate more meat than they did, and a cat that did the same. A month’s worth of cat & dog food were at least a day’s wages.

Heavy as the barrows were full of produce, their carrots, cukes, cabbages and even sugar snap peas were bought up throughout the Multiverse on the cheap, although thankfully finding a buyer was effortless. It was two steps forward for every one step back. They needed salted butter, a new axe, minced garlic, black pepper, bread, toilet paper was ludicrous, and Baker threatened revolt if he didn’t get some orange juice. On Terra in his former life, OJ had been near effortless to buy, while on Flora, obtaining it was somehow tied to some form of “spiritual affluence”.

Baker had always dreamed of being a homesteader, though his actual life had been avocado toast, luxurious frappes, data entry and air conditioning. He was used to limitless toilet paper, delivery from a proper pizza joint, and an electric fan next to his bed.

In the summer he slept naked, and sometimes would sweat regardless, and now washing the damn sheets was hard as well. 

Flora was gentle on the body, and somehow made things less painful to Baker’s relatively fragile anatomy than they would otherwise be. But at the same time, it presented emotional strain, because besides hunger and no internet, Olive seemed to like Jerrick better than Baker, even though Jerrick had white hairs, and Baker spent his days with little better to do than work, suppress jealousy, and hopelessly look around for a different social opportunity. But on the Plane of Flora, you had to make a living first, or social opportunities simply did not present themselves, as the laws of physical proximity did not apply like they did on Terra. Supposedly, once you were rich enough, neighbors simply became ‘magically’ adjacent.

Was this heaven? No, there was still pain, not the least of which was longing for buffalo chicken pizza. But time was forgiving here, and in truth, it was better than when he started. Did this have something to do with what Baker always believed? That you needed to improve, always, or there was no Salvation?

He discovered ‘improving’ meant more than a successful side-hustle as a Youtuber, as opposed to nothing but data entry. And he had always told himself he would have loved to be a farmer, enjoy the simple, quiet life.

“Cheer up, Bake,” said Olive, “we have soy sauce and a little bit of beef tips. That mean’s stir fry’s a-coming.”

“Tell me we have garlic and oil, for the love of Pete,” said Baker. He learned to cuss less on the homestead. It didn’t impress his two family members, and mercy me, this was no online forum.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she said, as if older, even though he was older, “it’s not as bad as you think.”

Baker sighed, then said, “Well, I’ll be happy to be on grill.”

Short-order cooking was one of Baker’s few practical skills before he came to Flora, and he was quite pleasantly surprised that he was a better cook than Olive or Jerrick, though Jerrick seemed to have the monopoly on relevant knowledge on the homestead.

“Sweet deal,” said Olive, “Where I’m from, even the restaurants had lousy stir fry.”

Jerrick said, “Less soy sauce on mine, if you please.”

There was something about Jerrick’s bland palate that irritated him more than anything else about their benefactor…

…but there was no real reason to dislike Jerrick. It was simply a feeling of being outdone at every turn, and it all seemed to manifest with the fact that Jerrick did not care for salt, garlic, salad dressing, or meat in general.

They tallied today’s wages.

“Beef tips, huh?” said Baker, “Maybe I’ll set some Coin aside, today.”

“We do need a new axe,” said Jerrick.

Egads!

“Should we split it?” said Baker nervously.

“I’ll buy it, but you’re getting the dog and cat food for three months.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

“What about me?” said Olive,

“All cleaning and hygiene supplies for one month.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” she said cheerfully.

She was the brightest thing on Golden Apple Farms.

Maybe on Flora, there was such a thing as sharing?

But love, just like the food they grew, took time to blossom.