Chapter 3: Taking Over the Farm(2)
TL: Hanguk
My dad and I arrived at the USDA Agricultural Support Office in Napa County, located on the outskirts of Napa Valley, California.
In the bright afternoon sunlight, the words ‘United States Department of Agriculture’ shone above the entrance of the small brick building. When we stepped inside, a cool gust of air conditioning greeted us along with a neat and orderly atmosphere.
“Welcome. How may I help you?”
An employee with a bright and polite voice greeted us. Appearing to be in his forties, dressed in a tidy gray suit and with neatly arranged blond hair, he smiled and guided us to the consultation table.
Dad looked at me once, as if nervous, then carefully opened his mouth.
“We’re thinking about taking over a Vineyard. We actually immigrated not long ago, so we came to ask what kind of support we can receive from the state or the country.”
He was here both to confirm whether what his son said was true and to learn about the financial support procedures necessary for the actual acquisition.
The employee smiled and opened several informational brochures. His finger pointed across the pages as he offered clear explanations.
“I see. You made a good decision. Especially for immigrant families, there are special programs supported by the government. It’s support for Socially Disadvantaged Applicants. USDA provides long-term, low-interest financing for 45% of the farm price, and the remaining 50% can be borrowed from a private bank with a USDA guarantee. As a result, the cash you need to prepare yourself is just 5% of the farm price.”
As Dad listened to the explanation, his eyes slowly widened, filled with a glimmer of hope. Although he came with a bit of expectation, he had been worried that maybe his son spoke without knowing things well. Realizing that what his son had said was true made his heart race.
"Really... 5% is all we need? Farms aren't cheap either, are they?"
The employee nodded kindly with a warm smile.
“Yes, that’s correct. Many people have successfully run farms through this program. I can also help you with the application and approval procedures, so you don’t need to worry.”
Dad turned his gaze to me.
“Woo-Seok, what do you think? Do you really think we can do this?”
I met Dad’s eyes with confidence.
“We can do it, Dad. Leave it to me. We can definitely revive this farm.”
Dad looked at my face for a moment, then smiled and spoke again to the employee.
“Alright. Then please tell us in detail what we need to do from here.”
The employee then began explaining step by step with a bright smile....
“Great. First, you need a contract with the current farm owner. Sign the contract with the transaction amount stated in it, and pay 5% of the price as the deposit. After that, you will need the contract, land certificates, a business plan, debt and asset documentation, credit reports....”
Although I had a doctorate in agriculture, I had never actually been a farm owner before, so I was startled by the pressure of the unexpected documents. But Dad, on the other hand, seemed to think these were all natural requirements and took notes carefully one by one.
Seeing that made me wonder if I had misunderstood Dad all this time.
‘I thought he failed because he was incompetent... but maybe he really worked hard and just had bad luck. I knew nothing and just hated him.’
I felt a wave of guilt...
‘From now on, I can just help him properly with the farm work.’
And with that, I organized my thoughts simply like this.
“Good. I made an appointment with the farm owner for tomorrow. He’s not here today. Maybe he’s out trying to gather money. I could tell he was happy when I said I’d take over the farm.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah... now you go to school.”
“What?”
“Were you not planning to go?”
Skipping school this morning to follow Dad was something he allowed only because this matter was so important.
But now that we had done everything needed, Dad told me to hurry to school even if it was late. So I had to go home, grab my bag, and head to school. And someone was waiting for me there.
“Brian! You’re coming today, right?”
“Ah... Rachel....”
I arrived at school close to lunchtime, and somehow she knew. She stood there looking down at me in the exact same pose as yesterday, arms crossed and one leg bent.
“You know your part of the presentation is really important. And this group is...”
“I know. I created it.”
“...?”
“I’ll go today. I even prepared.”
“Well, that’s a relief then. See you later.”
The truth was, the reason I didn’t want to attend that group was because I didn’t want to see my ex-wife. It wasn’t hatred, more like awkwardness? Even the feelings of love had long faded from my memory.
I learned later that she preferred the Asian accountant she communicated well with, not me. She liked the city more than the countryside, so she was fundamentally different from me.
Anyway, after school I went to a small lecture room in Vintage High School, and seven Asians were gathered there. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai... a small society assembled to defend against the natural disaster called racial discrimination.
Originally, gathering like this wasn’t our intention, but it happened naturally. People who needed a protective circle and information exchange gathered like bees drawn to flowers.
“Sorry, I know I was supposed to present yesterday, but something came up.”
Feeling the heated gazes, I awkwardly smiled. One pair of eyes among them was especially warm, but I pretended not to notice.
“But I did prepare pretty well.”
As I sat on the desk and pulled out the notes I had prepared, everyone got their notebooks ready to write. Among them, a girl with a small face, big eyes, and long black hair stared at me with a gentle smile.
‘She really is young....’
Seeing her face now, compared to the mid-forties version in my last memories, made me wonder how the same person could look so different.
“I looked into two routes for tax and accounting. One is low tuition with optimal results, and the other is an expensive route where you can proudly become a New Yorker.”
It wasn’t really research; I was speaking from the experience of my previous life before my regression.
“First, assuming you attend college within California, CSU (California State University) has annual tuition around six to seven thousand dollars, and it allows low-cost, practice-centered learning. It’s said to be advantageous for getting into New York accounting firms too. Especially San Jose State University, which is known to be good for getting into Silicon Valley companies....”
Because the information I shared was something high schoolers back then couldn’t easily find on the internet, everyone’s eyes sparkled. Kowin, the slim Japanese friend who was taking notes intensely as if wondering how I found such material, asked:
“Then where are you going?”
“I’m not going to any of the schools here.”
“Then?”
“Uh... I would’ve said something different before, but I changed my mind. I’m going to UC Davis. I plan to study agriculture there.”
My friends were shocked, but the one most surprised was Elena, my former wife, whose Korean name was Choi Soo-Jung.
“You’re going to farm? You said you would become an accountant.”
It wasn’t that my parents were forcing me into college. In agriculture, some people are simply good farmers, but there are also farmers who achieve high profits through exceptional farming techniques. And having academic credentials is very useful in promoting such farmers.
Graduating from UC Davis wasn’t something just to show my parents.
“I told you. I changed my mind. I’m going to help my parents with the farm.”
At those words, the warm smile she had been giving me until now froze. But I didn’t care.
“And I don’t think I can attend this group anymore because of the farm. Sorry... but I hope all of you get good results in your career paths.”
I waved to my stunned friends and left the lecture room. Then someone hurried out and grabbed my arm.
“Why did you suddenly decide to become a farmer?”
Seeing the desperate Elena reminded me of something I had forgotten.
“Ah, right. We agreed to go to New York together.”
“What is this... Don’t talk like you didn’t know.”
To send their son to New York University with her, my parents had taken out not only student loans but even personal credit loans despite our difficult finances. Now I fully understood how heavy that burden must have been on their shoulders.
“Sorry, but I think I need to stay here. You should go to New York University on your own.”
At my calm answer, Elena’s eyes shook violently. But I no longer wanted to be entangled with her, so I removed her hand from my arm and turned away.
“You’re not going with me? You’ll regret it.”
Her angry voice rang out behind me. For the first time, her tone felt different from before; I could see the shadow of my former wife in her.
“I’m staying so I won’t have regrets.”
And just like that, I left my ex-wife behind and ended our connection myself.
The next day, when I went to Redwood Farm with my parents, we were able to meet the farm owner, John Anderson. His face looked very gloomy, probably because he was about to hand over the farm.
“You want to buy the farm? With what money?”
“There’s a support program for immigrant workers.”
“Hmph! They won’t help people like me, but they help immigrant workers... damn politicians... It’s 1.5 million dollars. Can you even afford that?”
Dad flinched when John Anderson glared at him. Dad knew that with just 5%, meaning 75,000 dollars, he could take over the farm. Still, seeing him hesitate, wondering if the price was fair, I stepped forward.
“Maybe 1.5 million dollars would be fair under normal circumstances, but you’re selling it because the farm failed. Did you really put it on the market for 1.5 million?”
“What, you brat... Are you saying I’m lying right now?”
Hearing him yell, I became certain that John was lying.
A Vineyard isn’t a house; he wouldn’t have listed it on a real estate site. He would have tried to sell it through someone he knew, and in that case, there’s no fixed price.
“Alright. Then I’ll ask the investors. That’ll be the most accurate.”
He was startled and flustered by my words.
“What, what? You think they’ll give you a lower number?”
“At the very least, they’ll encourage us to negotiate at a reasonable price.”
“...”
“There’s one method that would be good for both you, Mr. John Anderson, and for us. Would you like to hear it?”
Even though I looked like a kid not yet even an adult, my tone was sharp enough that John Anderson couldn’t help but listen.
“What is it?”
“Lower the acquisition price as much as possible. Most of the acquisition payment will go to the investors anyway, right? Instead, if you lower the price, we’ll let you handle the distribution of the grapes and wine produced by the farm for the next two years starting next year. How about it?”
When I proposed something that wasn’t illegal but was still too crafty for a student to come up with, John Anderson’s mouth fell open.