Step inside
My stock comes by freight wagon from Sioux City, St. Paul, or Chicago—assuming the weather doesn’t decide otherwise. Come late fall, I watch the road like it owes me money and say a prayer every time a wagon finally rolls in. Running a general store out here isn’t easy, but it sure beats not having one.
Take a good breath—you’ll smell coffee, leather, tobacco, kerosene, spices, new cloth, and maybe something cured hanging out back. Barrels and crates cover the floor, shelves reach up as high as I can stack them, and this counter’s for weighing flour, measuring cloth, and settling friendly arguments.