PDLP Chapter 89 Story of Seasons
Chapter 89 Story of Seasons
There is a heavy, weighty feeling in the air of Bessai-cho.
The air here is humid and cold, mixed with the sour smell of fermenting silage, the damp earth, and the warm body odor unique to thousands of large mammals gathered together.
The jeep bumped along the gravel road for two hours.
Amy sat in the back seat, swaying from side to side with the movement of the car. She gripped the roof railing tightly, her face pale, and her glasses had slipped down to the bridge of her nose.
"How much longer until we arrive...?"
"We've arrived."
Satsuki closed the paperback novel she was reading halfway through and turned her gaze to the window.
Unlike the expansive feeling of fairy tales and pastoral idylls where the wind blows the grass low and cattle and sheep can be seen, it is different from the feeling of pastoral idylls.
The first thing that came into view was a gray cement wall with barbed wire strung on top. A stainless steel sign hung at the entrance, with the words "【Saionji First Ranch - No Entry Without Permission】" engraved in black.
There are no red-roofed wooden houses, no milkmaids in floral dresses, and not even a guard dog in sight.
Only that suffocating smell, as the car door opened, unceremoniously rushed in.
"Cough cough cough!"
Amy coughed as soon as she got out of the car. She quickly took out a handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose, and her glasses instantly fogged up.
"What is this smell... it's too strong."
"This tastes like protein."
Satsuki got out of the carriage, her little lambskin boots sinking into the half-melted snow. Instead of covering her nose, she took a deep breath, her expression calm, as if savoring some unique fragrance.
"Cough cough...!!"
Unfortunately, Satsuki's body did not allow her to enjoy the fragrance; she started coughing after only a few breaths.
Amy covered her nose and came to Satsuki's side, patting her back with amusement.
"Okay, okay... don't force yourself. I know, this is what... the smell of money fermenting~ right?"
Satsuki slowly straightened up, a trace of tears still clinging to the corner of her eye.
"Okay, who's in charge here? The hygiene standards are substandard!"
At this moment, the iron gate slowly slid open to both sides.
A middle-aged man with dark skin, wearing a dark blue overalls, jogged up to greet him. His name was Matsuda, the former owner of this ranch. Because of the milk surplus crisis two years ago, he owed the agricultural cooperative a huge debt and was now an employee of the Saionji family.
"Young Miss, you've arrived."
Matsuda took off his hat, which was covered in bits of grass, and awkwardly rubbed it in his hands. Facing this "boss" who was even younger than his daughter, his wrinkled face was filled with a fawning smile.
But for some reason, the young lady's gaze towards him was a little strange.
"Lead the way to Workshop Number One."
Satsuki glanced at him, turned her head away, and strode inside.
"I'll settle the score with you later..."
Only Amy, who was standing nearby, heard Satsuki's soft mutterings.
Amy glanced at Matsuda with some sympathy, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Satsuki's words.
"Workshop?" Amy paused, then muttered under her breath, following behind, "Isn't it called a cowshed?"
Matsuda led the two into the huge silver-gray steel structure building.
Pushing open the heavy soundproof door, a wave of heat hits you.
Amy shut her mouth.
This place certainly cannot be called a cowshed.
This is a huge industrial site filled with the sound of pumps.
At the very center of the building stands a massive circular turntable, over twenty meters in diameter. Driven by a motor, the turntable rotates slowly, emitting a low, continuous humming sound.
Dozens of large Holstein cows were lined up. Like a group of passengers waiting to have their tickets checked, they obediently walked onto the carousel, stuck their heads into the feed troughs, and spread their hind legs.
The cow walked up and got stuck in the workstation.
The workers on the outer edge moved quickly, holding iodine spray guns and wiping cloths. They cleaned, disinfected, and fitted silver milking cups.
The entire process takes no more than fifteen seconds.
"This is a rotary milking system from DeLaval, a Swedish company."
Matsuda explained from the side.
"Sixty workstations are operating simultaneously. A cow goes up and walks around for about eight minutes, the milk is finished, the cup set automatically detaches, and the cow walks down by itself."
He pointed to the crisscrossing stainless steel pipes overhead.
"After the milk comes out, it goes directly into a vacuum pipeline, which is completely sealed. It is instantly cooled to 4 degrees Celsius by a plate heat exchanger, and then transported to an insulated tanker outside."
Amy looked up at the transparent pipes.
The white liquid flowed rapidly inside the pipe, converging into a white torrent.
"Wow, that's amazing..." Amy pushed up her glasses. "It feels even more precise than when we make circuit boards in the factory."
"Indeed precise."
Satsuki walked to the glass window of the control room and looked down at the tireless rotating turntable.
"Meiji Dairy and Snow Brand Dairy also have similar machines, and even on a larger scale than ours. If we're going to compete on output and cost, it will be very difficult for us to beat those giants."
"Huh?" Amy paused for a moment, "Then we..."
"We do not sell 'industrial milk' that is a mixture of milk sources from all over the country."
Satsuki stretched out a finger and gently drew a circle on the steamy glass, encircling the cows below that were ruminating.
"Meiji's milk was collected from farmers all over the country. They were mixed in huge storage tanks, and although the standards were uniform, it was a 'mass production' process."
She turned around, leaning against the glass window, and looked at Amy.
"Our milk comes only from here. This is called 'Single Origin'."
"We want to tell the housewives in Tokyo: this carton of milk was just squeezed from this grassy field in Bessai-cho yesterday afternoon. It wasn't mixed with milk from unknown origins in the storage tanks, nor did it undergo a long period of storage."
"S-Farm Hokkaido Limited Edition. We'll sell it for a little more than Meiji. About 20% more."
"Expensive?" Amy asked, puzzled. "Didn't you say you wanted to seize the market? If it's expensive, will anyone still buy it?"
"Because it is 'made in Hokkaido'."
Satsuki's lips curled into a confident smile.
"For Tokyoites, the name 'Hokkaido' itself represents a belief in pure nature. By spending just a few extra yen, they can buy that belief, that 'freshness just squeezed out,' and they feel it's worth every penny. Or rather, we make them feel it's worth every penny."
"Is this what they call... high-value luxury?"
"Correct answer."
Satsuki snapped her fingers.
"Let's go to the back area. There I have my secret weapon for the future 'Kitaguni-ya'."
As you walk through the milking parlor, the smell changes. If the front section smells like fermented lactose, then the back section has a much stronger, hot, masculine aroma.
This is the beef cattle area.
Groups of strong beef cattle were kept in the enclosure.
But they look very strange.
They are not the pure black, noble Wagyu cattle, nor are they black and white dairy cows. They have black fur, but their faces are marked with white patches, or their bodies have messy patterns.
He was burly with well-defined muscles and a somewhat naive look in his eyes.
"What breed is this?" Amy asked curiously, leaning closer. "It looks a bit like Wagyu beef, but not quite."
"Hybrid".
Satsuki provided the definition.
She walked to the railing, not minding the dirt, and patted the back of a cow. The cow turned its head, exhaled a puff of hot air, and tried to lick Satsuki's hand with its rough tongue, but she nimbly dodged it.
"This is F1. A cross between Holstein and Wagyu cattle."
Matsuda explained from the side, "Usually, frozen Wagyu sperm is used to inseminate Holstein cows whose milk production has declined. The calves born are raised as beef cattle if they are male."
"Why raise this kind of... mixed breed?" Amy asked, puzzled. "Isn't purebred Wagyu beef more expensive? I saw those A5 Wagyu beef in Ginza, and they cost several thousand yen per hundred grams."
"Because we're not feeding cattle to politicians in Ginza."
Satsuki grabbed a handful of yellowish-green feed from the feed trough next to her. It was TMR (Total Mixed Ration), corn, soybean meal, and alfalfa hay chopped and mixed together by a machine, emitting a sweet and sour smell.
"Purebred Wagyu cattle are too pampered. They need massages, beer, Mozart music, and they have to be raised for a full thirty months before they can be sold. The cost of that means they can only be a plaything for a very few people."
She held the feed to the F1 cow's mouth and watched it gobble it down.
"But F1 is different. It inherits the growth rate and disease resistance of dairy cows, as well as some of the meat quality of Wagyu beef. As long as it is fed like ducks with industrialized formula feed, it can be ready for slaughter in twenty months."
Satsuki patted the crumbs off her hands and took out a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe them.
"Its meat also has marbling, although it can't compare to A5, but it's much better than those dry and tough Australian imported beef, and it's also much more tender than the beef from those discarded dairy cows."
Satsuki turned around and looked at Amy, her eyes carrying a hint of a test.
"Amy, what do you think of a bowl of Yoshinoya beef rice?"
"Beef rice?" Amy thought for a moment. "It's cheap and filling. But the meat is a bit tough, and it doesn't have much flavor unless you pour a lot of broth on it. And I heard they use frozen meat from the US or Australia."
"If I were to open a shop, I would call it 'Kitakuni-ya' (Kitakuni-ya)."
Satsuki's voice became lighter.
"All the beef is from F1 domestic beef, all the onions are sweet onions grown in the Tokachi Plain, and even the rice is Hokkaido rice."
"A bowl of steaming hot, tender, marbled domestic beef rice."
Satsuki held up five fingers.
"Only 450 yen."
"Yoshinoya sells it for 400 yen. We're only 50 yen more expensive."
Amy imagined the scene in her mind.
The difference is as small as a coin.
On one side is dry, frozen imported meat, and on the other side is fresh, tender domestic snowflake meat.
Moreover, it's "domestic." In the subconscious of the Japanese, domestic ingredients are always considered superior to imported ones.
"If it were me..." Amy swallowed hard, "I might pay the extra 50 yen. After all, it's domestic beef, it feels like a feast."
"That's right."
Satsuki nodded in satisfaction.
"We're not trying to compete with Yoshinoya on who's cheaper. During economic downturns, people may not have much money, but they crave comfort. The psychological satisfaction of getting 'domestic quality' at fast food prices is Kitakuniya's core competitive advantage."
She glanced at Matsuda.
"Mr. Matsuda, the feed formula for these guys needs to be adjusted again. I want their fat deposition rate to be higher, even if it slows down their growth cycle by a month."
"As long as you can see snowflakes when you cut it open, Tokyo office workers will feel that a bowl of rice is worth 1,000 yen."
"Yes, I understand." Matsuda nodded quickly and wrote it down.
It was already dark when we left the cowshed.
The sunsets in Hokkaido are always particularly magnificent.
The setting sun painted the horizon a deep crimson, and the vast grasslands took on a profound dark green hue in the afterglow. On the distant snow-capped peaks, the golden light was gradually fading.
Satsuki stood by the pasture fence, gazing at the picturesque scene.
"It's so quiet here," Amy exclaimed.
"yes."
Satsuki gathered her wind-blown hair.
"Who would have thought that this quiet countryside is generating Tokyo's most clamorous desires?"
"Milk, beef, onions, potatoes."
"These items will be transported to that huge city through our logistics network."
"Then, on some late night, it becomes a cup of hot milk in the hands of someone working overtime, or a bowl of comforting beef rice."
Satsuki turned her head and looked at Amy.
"Amy, don't you think this is a very romantic thing? Using industrial efficiency to sell 'warmth' and 'hometown flavor'."
Amy looked at her, pushed up her glasses, and gave a somewhat helpless yet convinced smile.
"It all sounds like scheming... but if the young lady did it, it could actually turn into something romantic."
The wind rustled across the meadow.
The cattle in the distance began to slowly move towards the barn, emitting low mooing sounds.
The sound carried very far across the open plains.
It was like a long, drawn-out greeting from the North.