huckleberry farm

slowly, a dazzlingly bright ball drooped lower and lower in the sky; the snaking light illuminated a spectacular farm with a warm embrace. Hanging lower in the sky, the sun crafted a magnificent sunset that spread serenity to the humble farm.

This farm has been a cornerstone of the community, passed down through generations of the Huckleberry family. Nestled in the rolling hills of Norfolk, England, this picturesque farm exudes a sense of history and tradition.

As you step onto the farm, the scent of ripe apples and the sweet aroma of cider production fill the air. The orchard, a sprawling expanse of apple trees in neat rows, stretches out before you, each tree bearing the promise of delicious cider to come. The orchard is meticulously tended to, a labor of love that has been honed over years of experience.

In the heart of the farm stands a cozy cabin, the humble abode of Schmike himself. The cabin exudes warmth and charm, a place where Schmike finds solace after long days of hard work in the orchard and cider production. It's here that Schmike unwinds, surrounded by the memories of generations past and the comfort of a life lived close to the land.

At one time, the farm was not only known for its cider but also for its bustling chicken coops. The clucking of hens and the crowing of roosters used to fill the air, adding a lively energy to the farm. However, as times changed, the chicken pens now stand empty, a silent reminder of the farm's evolution over the years.

Despite the changes, Schmike's farm remains a place of beauty and tranquility, a testament to the enduring spirit of farming and the deep-rooted connection to the land. The cider farm stands as a living legacy, a blend of tradition and innovation that continues to thrive under Schmike's watchful eye, ensuring that the legacy of the farm will endure for generations to come.

Schmike Huckleberry was the ambitious owner of this cider farm and his family have owned it for 12 generations. dreams of expanding his declining heirloom's avenues of profitability had been eating away at him for years now. This animal less land didn't always used to be like this. it all started 6 generations ago when Schmike's great great great great grandfather got into a massive debt from his crippling gambling addiction which forced him to sell his prized cluckers to stay afloat.

fortunately, the old devilish feind still had a grand cider brewery and a sublime apple orchard and despite the immense loss to the renowned ranch he still had a puny cider factory. However although Schmike diffused ambition from his very soul he could never quite save enough profits for a single chicken. He envisioned a bright future for his farm with millions of fluffy feathers dancing gracefully in their enourmass enclosures that were big enough to hold all the water of the River Wye. The young but experienced cider drinker desired more than what he had.

Greedily gulping gallons of cider like the proud alcoholic he was Schmike once again pondered upon what business opportunities he could exploit. After hours of meticulous deliberations, he had done it. Pure exuberance ignited within his eyes like a wild unbridled fire. He had a plan. His genius had finally pulled through. Clarity instantly replaced his joy in his eyes.

springing onto his feet and out of his cosy neat bed he swooshed into an all black outfit at light speeds. Time was ticking. BAM! Flung open by Schmike's monstrous strength his door slammed open screaming in pain. Having little time left, he rapidly zoomed out of his cabin. Launching into his vehicle Schmike aggressively slammed on the gas.

weaving and dodging the precious money makers that towered terribly high Schmike came to a realisation. He wasn't going to make it. Dispair consumed his mind. But Schmike wasn't no quitter. quickly regathering himself, the little ambition lingering in his souls blazed viciously. resuming his frightening pace and calculating his new route Schmike turned speedily and…

CRASH!

uh oh…

THUD!

This wasn't part of his plan. Gobsmacked, distrsught, dismayed he slowly got out of the ruined car. He had crashed. Schmike huckleberry had squandered his only chance of financial freedom. His master plan of stealing chickens from Bob Spuckleberry's farm (his arch rival and nemesis) had failed. It couldn't have been worse. Not only had his ingenuity and ingenuousness failed him but he had also destroyed his only method of transportation to escape his godforsaken cider operateur. He could no longer sell his family constructed cider. He could no longer earn a profit. He was never going to fulfil his goals. All of his hard work, his life's work was crumbling before his eyes.

Because of this, Schmike for once choose to give up. He sat down on the cold mud floor and cried. His tears soon formed a song of sadness that the whole town could hear. Schmike was done.