California, Monte Cristo Gold Mine, September 1979

“You must need an army to tend that farm, uncle Joe.” A young woman of around her late twenties addressed a far older man who pulled a chair for her to sit next to him on the patio of a colonial design house.

“Nah, not really. Just a few men, and I hire some kids for the gatherings.” Joe smiled through his heavy beard.

“Kids? How can you find kids during the school season?” The younger woman sat and looked around with big eyes at everything around her.

“I don’t need a lot. Plus, the gatherings have to be past five p.m. anyway. Every crop has its quirks, Jenny.” Joe made a grand gesture to his immense farm.

“Never heard of a crop that has to be gathered at certain hours. That’s odd, and sort of funny.” Jenny gave a short and dry laugh.

“Not true. Most crops need special times, special ways to pick them. Not everything can be done by machines, sadly.” Joe shook his head.

“But aren’t Malvaos the same plants that caused the hallucinations back east?” Jenny looked intently at the violet fruit filling every shrub in the field, covering her horizon of vision.

“Yeah, but it was the mistake of those people back east. Some idiot gassed the field and the gas reacted with the fruit and produced the substance that led to the group hallucination.” Joe waved his hand in dismissal, as he turned his head and pursed his mouth.

“I heard that too. Those poor people.” Jenny bent her head and frowned.