At the moment when this crisis is at stake, the 'autumn grain failure' is undoubtedly another hammer to hit the turtledove. …… Jesus was born at 31 degrees north latitude, where the climate is warm and produce, and it is said that milk and honey flow from the ground, and men do not have to grow grain, and women do not have to pick cotton.

So the calendar he used was useless for North Dakota, which is 48 degrees north latitude.

The autumn rain in September turned into hail when it fell on the Yellowstone River. Despite the painstaking contemplation of the turtledove, the fifteen dollars of forgetting to sleep and eat, the leakage of the fifteen dollars, the dripping turnover of little Andre, the vigorous supervision and implementation of the ox, and the pervasive supervision and disposal of sturgeon and smoked fish...... All of them are doing their job.

However, no one expected that in September, there would be a sudden hail in the canton of Crow! Turtledove established many institutions in the aftermath of later generations, but in the end, the Meteorological Bureau was neglected.

The newly appointed director of the Meteorological Bureau had just graduated from university and had originally studied 'livestock breeding', but when he finally graduated, he was assigned the task of studying 'meteorology'.

This poor fellow, he didn't even know the word 'meteorology', and he had a nautical barometer in his hand and hadn't learned how to use it, and a cauldron was put on his head with a 'clang' - why couldn't the Meteorological Bureau predict this hailstorm?

This hailstorm led to agricultural failures in the northern states of Crowe, Dakota and Cheyenne, and the wheat that should have been harvested was directly rotted in the ground.

Turtledove, who had not been out of White Rock for a long time, canceled all the meetings of the day on the morning of the day when he received the news, asked Peso to bring dry food, and went straight to the wheat plantation on the other side of the Yellowstone River.

The weather seemed to be deliberately hostile to the Americans, and after a hailstorm, the temperature quickly warmed up again.

By the time the turtledove arrived next to the plantation, the rain had stopped. The 1,000-acre wheat plantation looks boundless and golden.

It's just that this magnificent scenery is like an overwhelming amount of paper money on the funeral road for the people of America today.

Even the turtledove thinks, is there really a heavenly punishment in this world? Is it because you don't cultivate your own virtues? Or were the Americans doomed?

The turtledove couldn't help but kneel in the muddy field, pulled out a few grains of wheat from the ground, and looked at the white shoots that had grown on it.

With some despair, he said to the Minister of Agriculture: "Can you still eat it?" The Minister of Agriculture lay on the ground, his face full of tears, holding a large handful of wheat mixed with mud in his hand, and he only desperately stuffed it into his mouth, and kept saying, "Can you eat, can you eat......" Ikaruga asked the others behind him,

"Can you still eat it?" All said

"Can eat, can eat......" A group of more than a dozen people, in the end, all knelt on the ground, crying and crying.

In the morning of the same day. Construction in North Dakota, Crowe, and Cheyenne has stopped, and everyone rushes to the plantations to help harvest the wheat.

Most of the wheat had fallen into the mud, and the Americans did not dislike it, picking them up one by one and putting them in bags.

The sprouted ones are divided into piles, and the non-sprouted ones are divided into piles. Some were still hanging from the ears of wheat, and the Americans carefully cut them off, leaving a long stalk of wheat that they were reluctant to throw away, as if they could pluck a few more grains out of the stalks.

If you can eat it, you can do it! …… In the middle of an endless wheat field, several Black Americacans lay on thick straws basking in the sun.

"I'm tired, I'm tired, let's rest for a while!" A tall, thin fellow threw away his sickle and lay down on a nearby stalk, crushing a large patch of stalk that still had ears hanging on it.

"I can't do it anyway!" Another chubby guy lay down across from him.

Cover your eyes with your hands, resist the sun in the blank sky, and tilt one foot to the other.

"I have a brother in Tunisia and they are doing well, eating steaks, drinking red wine, and working only 10 hours a day!" The other guy dropped his scythe and sat down.

"Really?" The lying guy asked.

"Is that still fake? Tunisia is now a protectorate of the French! ”

“c！” The guy who was lying down rolled over and sat up,

"How did he get to Tunisia? Boat? Ferry tickets don't come cheap! The guy who sat looked at him like an idiot: "People were born in Tunisia!" ”

“c！” The fellow lay down again, and said with envy, "What a good life they have!" "The sun was so hot in the afternoon that they sweated a lot even when they were lying down.

In the distance, the voices of the Indians shouted loudly, and one of the negroes craned his neck to look at it, and then shrank back,

"Lie down a little longer, they'll be a long time before they get to us!"

"Is there any smoke?"

"What do you think? Smoking is a jail sentence! ”

"Not free!"

"I miss my days in Ethiopia! I am a chieftain, I have a house, and I have 8 wives...... In the morning my kids would wake me up, and the older ones would have already made breakfast...... I have 1 piece of land, which is not big, and 8 wives can grow some food as long as they are not lazy......"

"Uh......h My hometown is in Morocco, where bread grows on the trees......"

"I hate cutting wheat, and I prefer to pick cotton instead! I think we blacks are naturally good at picking cotton, you see, we have long hands and long legs, it's like a cotton picker......" They buzzed a lot, one moment nostalgic for their homeland, the other envious of their distant Tunisian brothers, and the other they imagined going to the east to chase their dreams - the great Polk president said that he wanted to emancipate the black slaves, and they felt that they were just emancipated!

Suddenly there was a burst of laughter among them. It turned out that the topic came back to the matter of cutting wheat.

"These Indians are stupid, the wheat is wet with water, it has sprouted, and they are like treasures—they can eat it...... Can you eat ......" One of them looked like the Minister of Agriculture, his butt pouting to the sky, holding the air in his hands on the ground, desperately stuffing it into his mouth.

It was his burlesque performance that caused the other three to laugh.

"Haha, Indians!"

"If there's a real shortage of food, why don't you buy it from the Texans?"

"It's ridiculous how hard they work!" A breeze blew, and waves of wheat rolled, muffling their cheerful laughter.

A small black cloud gathered in the sky, and I don't know when it will float over. …… Standing in the mud puddle with his trouser legs crossed, Turtledove opened an emergency bulletin with his mud-stained hands, which said that an American army was attacking Swan City, 300 kilometers away, and that the 1st Guards Regiment led by a watermill was engaged with it.

Turtledove picked up the pen and wrote only one sentence on it: "Grant full authority to make decisions on the spot, and wish victory!" He handed the approved report to Peso, and continued to cut the wheat with his head down.

He had a lot of important things to do, but now, he felt that nothing was more important than harvesting this field of wheat before the heavy rain fell.

If Heaven wants to punish him, let him punish him! He can only do what he can do now, one by one, and he no longer has any extravagant hopes.

The hammer of 'autumn grain failure' made him dizzy.