Little Farm in the Ozarks

Rose was sitting at the table in the little log house on Rocky Ridge Farm, finishing a letter to Grandma Ingalls, when she heard snarling outside in the dark, snowy woods. Fido, the little white terrier with black and tan spots, raised his head from the hearth and growled deep in his chest. His ears lay flat against his head.
“What was that?” Rose asked.
Mama closed her book and looked at Papa. “That’s a new one on me,” he said. “Might be it’s just a bobcat, but I’d best check the horses.” He set down the leather horse collar. Rose saw her mistake and squeezed a small “r” in between the “b” and the “u.” They both looked up when they heard Papa open the outside door to the lean-to and kick
the snow off his boots.
“Everything seems to be in order,” he said. “The horses are quiet and I don’t see any strange tracks in the snow.”
Papa went back to oiling the collar.
“I was thinking, Bess,” Papa said to Mama. “It’s getting on toward spring and I’ll be needing some help around the place. Reynolds at the general store told me this morning that here in the Ozarks folks plant their peas in February and their potatoes in March.”
“I can scarcely believe it, Manly,” Mama said. “We never planted anything before April in South Dakota. Are you sure he wasn’t pulling the wool over your eyes?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it myself,” Papa said. “But Reynolds has his onion sets and seed potatoes in stock already, and he just put his plows and hoes out as well. Some fellows were in today signing their crop lines.”
“What is the interest?” asked Mama.
“Fifteen percent,” Papa replied.
“Why, that’s as bold as thievery!” Mama complained. “How can we ever get ahead when we must wait four more years for the apple trees to bear fruit?”
“We’ve been through all that,” Papa said calmly. “We have acres of good timber to hack into railroad ties and fence rails that we can always sell. But I can’t do it alone and still raise our own corn and grain.”
“I’m just not accustomed to waiting so long for a crop to come in,” said Mama. “In South Dakota, we had the wheat crop to count on every summer.”