I keep cattle on the north edge of the strip, as my father did before me, and I have never in my life had to write a notice like this one. My whole store has turned at once. The morning’s milk soured in the pail before I could set it, the evening’s went the same way, and when I went into the cold store I found the beef spoiled on the hooks, a whole season’s meat gone grey and green and weeping in a single night. Meat has always kept out here, hung cool and salted down the way it always has, and milk has always held a good long while in a cold cellar. I have never seen a whole store go over together, all at once, as though something had simply decided its time was up.

So I am asking for two things. First, if you keep any milk, meat, or stores of your own, go and look tonight, because if it could take mine in a night it can take yours, and I would rather you heard it from this notice than from the smell. Second, I need hands. There is more spoiled meat in that store than I can haul and bury alone before it draws flies and sickness onto the whole yard, and it has to be out and in the ground quickly. Strong backs and a stronger stomach, and I will pay a fair wage and feed you what little is left that is still good. Come to the farm on the north edge of the strip and ask for me at the gate. Come today if you can. I do not think this one waits.

T. Ashe