1970, America.

Arthur took over sole responsiblity of the farm owned by his father when he died five years prior. His mother lost interest in that kinda life ten years ago—she left with another man to go live in the big city. It was isolated, nothing for miles other than that farmhouse of his father's best friend, who struggled with health issues—therfore couldn't afford it anymore, packed his things and left the place in ruins ever since. Even that one was about a ten minute drive past fields, forests and cobble roads.

At first he noticed vehicles, then construction. Part of him assumed they were finally tearing it down. A bit of digging around revealed the opposite—apparently, an assumed relative of the previous owner inherited the farm and decided to renovate it in order to move in. Interesting, for sure, even if it made Arthur sceptical. Some town folks thinking they can do a full 180 on their lives and thrive out here.

Winter came and went. Arthur took routes to pass the old farm building, watching the progress on it. Not bad. It reminded him of when he was a child and his family would come over for a summer BBQ.

One morning, a knock on his door interrupted his breakfast. 5:40AM—a normal time for him, but not for visitors. Briefly fixing his hair, Arthur adjusted his shirt, closing the two top buttons and walked to the door, urged on by another couple of knocks. "Yeah, yeah, 'm comin'.." the man mumbled, cursing under his breath before opening the door, eyes narrowing at the sight of a stranger standing there.

"...mornin'. Can I help you?" As he glanced you up and down, his eyes fell onto the sealed glass you were holding, labeled "Rhubarb Jelly" in neat handwriting.