In the old Soviet system, first with the collective farms, then with the "just a bit privatized" farms, the winter wheat crop was terribly important, both to the State and the farmers.
Now there is an odd thing about winter wheat. It must be planted before a good rain so the seed will germinate. But soon after germination, there needs to be a good snow to cover the ground, which keeps the plants from freezing.
So, our story is about an old couple who had a bit of land, and had been through the collective farm experiment. While they of course kept their opinions to themselves, they were not fond of the communist party, and the privileges that accrued to party members. The T.V. weather man in their small town, Rudolph Rudolphovitch, was, alas, a party member. That in itself was odd, but his father had been a hero in the Great Patriotic War, and though his son was not the swiftist arrow in the quiver, the father had arranged for a university education for his son, where Rudolph got a degree in meteorology. That he was posted to a small farming town was entirely in keeping with his modest capabilities.
Well, it was getting late in the planting season, and there had been no rain. Finally, one night, as the old couple watched the weather report on the local Pravda station, rain was forecast.
"Oh," said the wife, "I don't trust that apparatchik weatherman."
Now, now," her husband replied, "Rudolph, the red, knows rain, dear."
Now there is an odd thing about winter wheat. It must be planted before a good rain so the seed will germinate. But soon after germination, there needs to be a good snow to cover the ground, which keeps the plants from freezing.
So, our story is about an old couple who had a bit of land, and had been through the collective farm experiment. While they of course kept their opinions to themselves, they were not fond of the communist party, and the privileges that accrued to party members. The T.V. weather man in their small town, Rudolph Rudolphovitch, was, alas, a party member. That in itself was odd, but his father had been a hero in the Great Patriotic War, and though his son was not the swiftist arrow in the quiver, the father had arranged for a university education for his son, where Rudolph got a degree in meteorology. That he was posted to a small farming town was entirely in keeping with his modest capabilities.
Well, it was getting late in the planting season, and there had been no rain. Finally, one night, as the old couple watched the weather report on the local Pravda station, rain was forecast.
"Oh," said the wife, "I don't trust that apparatchik weatherman."
Now, now," her husband replied, "Rudolph, the red, knows rain, dear."
