Big Macintosh sat the kitchen table, the farm's financial records spread out in front of him. He chewed on a pencil as he clicked beads back and forth on an abacus. "Need t' talk t' th' mayor about that Public Works tax," he said. "Ah know th' town's in th' red, but that there tax is killin' us."

Granny Smith poured a bag of sugar into a pot on the stove and stirred it.

Applejack trotted into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and sat down across from Big Mac with it. "Well, Ah got th' golden deliciouses in th' cellar. Is Apple Bloom out with her little friends?"

"Eeyup."

"Wish she'd take a little more interest in chores. Ah could use th' help."

"Eeyup."

"Found anywhere we can cut what we owe in taxes?"

"Nope."

"Dang it. Ah was hopin' we could get a new wagon."

"Nope."

"What y'all yung'uns want fer supper?"

"How 'bout some fried okra an' tomatoes an' greens? We ain't had that in a while."

"You got it! Oh...you might hafta go do some shoppin'. Runnin' mighty low on a few things."

"Alright. Make a list, I'll go in a few minutes."

The beads on Big Mac's abacus clacked. The old clock over the door ticked.

Ice clinked in Applejack's glass as she set it down on the table.

"Welp, guess Ah'll get goin'. Need anythin', Big Mac?"

"Nope."

Granny started chopping okra into even rounds as Applejack put on her saddlebags, picked up the list, and headed for the door.

Author's Note

Get it? Cusses? Abacusses?