1st Spring - 7th Spring

"I seem stark mute; inside I prate."

1ST SPRING

The sunrise woke me this morning. A great many things have seemed strange today, but somehow waking to the sun rather than an alarm was the strangest. A late Spring frost awaited to greet me, if that's the appropriate descriptor, and I have no idea where to begin.

There was a package by the front door (Discovered it by tripping over it). Parsnip seeds from Mayor Lewis. Quote: "Your grandfather would not have forgiven me if I had allowed you to fend for yourself."

The instructions on the packet were apparently straightforward. Sow them thinly in light, stone-free soil. On the face of it, not that different to balcony gardening, and those herbs turned out alright. It's disconcerting. I refuse to believe it's as easy as written. In a sense it's not. The instructions recommend an ambient temperature of at least 8°C. Well, that frost says the morning is not 8°C. I had to improvise. There were a bunch of old ceramic pots stacked in the pantry. They'll do for seedlings, I think. I don't seem to have a trowel – filling the pots meant literally getting my hands dirty.

The tools I do have:

Shovel

Watering can

Axe

Pick

Hoe

Billhook

Spent most of the day hacking away at the land (I need gloves, too). I managed to chop down a lot of the weeds with the billhook, but the soil is still compacted and full of debris. Shovel didn't make much headway so I ended up breaking it up with the pick. It's rapidly becoming my favourite tool – it's got some kind of mattock blade on the back. It's hard work, but it decompacts the dirt pretty well.

I realised at about noon I don't have any food in the house. Followed the lane Eastwards into the village. There's a general store by the square. I don't think I've ever seen the owner of a shop behind his own till before. An archetypal family business. His wife seemed nice enough – don't know what to make of the daughter – that smile wasn't entirely a customer-service-smile. Pierre's almost too helpful, however. He pretty quickly offered to buy up whatever I produce. Something he said stuck in my mind: "Why bother with the Saturday market when you've got the convenience of the general store?"

I might not know anything about selling vegetables, but I do know an advertisement when I hear it.

Oh, god, there's a JojaMart here, too. I was hoping the local supermarket would be something else. Shopping there's not … not easy. I sometimes wonder how normal people can stand it.

Steel blue facade …

The fact remains I still have no kitchen. I'll have to see about dinner at the local pub.

There's an atmosphere small pubs have. It's probably familiar and comforting for the locals, but if you're not a regular, you feel like a trespasser. Barmaids are the same everywhere. The blue-haired girl, -I forget her name- Emily, was as bubbly as you'd expect. Lewis asked me to introduce myself … that the villagers would appreciate it. I tried to introduce myself to a bloke standing by himself at the end of the bar, and got a "Why are you talking to me" for my trouble.

-What the hell was Granddad thinking?-

2ND SPRING

Second morning on the buckland. No frost today, but a heavy dew glistening on the ground. I had a letter in the morning mail, an actual handwritten letter! (People really had been asking about me) It's … what's the word? Quaint? No. Antique? Possibly. It's neighbourly. I think. He just signs it "Willy", as if that's intended to mean something. At least it gives me something to do with the day.

The beach is a stone's throw from the village, just South over the river. The Gem Sea was in a restless mood today, slate-grey, the breakers a constant roil of wind-tossed foam. A fine mist lingered over the waves. I took off my boots to walk barefoot. The sand was chilly underfoot. It didn't matter. It's better than asphalt.

There was someone standing at the pier, on the West side of the beach. Almost a silhouette against a backdrop of racing grey clouds and restless sea, ignoring the spray of the waves. Like something out of a painting. The mysterious Willy has a sense of the dramatic, apparently. Smelled of tobacco and fish gyte, puffing thoughtfully on a pipe, holding a battered old rod. As it turns out, the rod was for me. I thought at first it was a generous welcoming gesture. Until he suggested I buy something from his tackle shop. It wasn't a gift, it was an investment.

I haven't been fishing since I was little. Some of it came back to me, but I'm certain I'm out of practice. The best catch was a can of JojaCola, somehow. I may well have to get back into practice. Willy says he'll buy up whatever I catch – I might need the income.

What else? Oh, yes. Fortune smiles upon me, anyway ("i'Faith, Fortune's private parts we."). This village has a library! It's got a pretty good selection for its size. There are some farming primers in the reference section I'm going to have to look at.

There's a room of empty display cabinets beyond the stacks. The librarian made an appearance. This room is supposed to be the Archaeological Office. It seems the previous curator nicked the museum's whole collection, Yoba knows why. It doesn't seem to have been all that valuable. The leftover labels give a hint as to its former extent. Like a lot of small-town museums, it's a mélange of a bit of everything, anything tangentially related to the valley. Geology, assorted archaeology. Some fossils.

A walk to the beach gave me a chance to see some more of the valley. Marnie's Ranch neighbours Buckland to the South. Marnie, assuming it is Marnie who runs it, has a couple of acres over the lane as well. The Blue Moon Vineyard near to the shore. Fairhaven Farm, across the river. The owner of Fairhaven, Andy, introduced himself this morning. Big fellow. Firm handshake. But, oh … a Joja loyalist, with the Joja baseball cap to prove it. Calls farming "honest work". Honest work. I like the sound of that. So often Joja made me feel dishonest. He couldn't help but add how lucky I am to inherit Buckland. How do you respond to that? I didn't, actually.

Lucky. How can you be lucky to inherit land you don't know how to cultivate?

3RD SPRING

My God. They're actually growing. There are actually green shoots in those battered old ceramic pots.

Who knew parsnips could be beautiful?

Another letter in the mail this morning – this time, neither handwritten nor neighbourly. "Stop by Pierre's General Store TODAY and check out our affordable size 24 backpack!" Didn't take long for me to make it onto his mailing list.

Started raining at about half ten. Improvised a shelter from a tarp that didn't seem to be good for much else. And suddenly I'm nine again, fishing in a downpour. Never thought I'd be nostalgic for those damp afternoons. Willy insists there's good water in the valley, but I'm not convinced. I brought up about six Joja 2.0 discs, for God's sake. Met a couple more people before giving up for the day. Robin's husband, local scientist and father (Odd way of putting it), and their daughter Maru, local nurse and daughter (She's quick).

Dinner at the Stardrop again. The barmaid took pity on me and introduced me to a couple of people (Fishing for tips, I suspect). Sebastian, Robin's son – you can see it in the nose. Something of the overgrown teenager about him (i.e: young and stupid). What am I saying? He couldn't be that much younger than me! I'm probably the weird one. Joja has a way of ageing you.

I did have a real conversation with Leah. I didn't intend to, but. She used to live in the city, too. We talked for a while about the Spring. I've not been able to talk like this since Tilda left. Leah's been waiting for the daffodils to emerge – daffodils aren't unknown in the city, of course, but apparently seeing them bloom in the valley is quite different. I thought about buying her a drink, but I didn't want her to think me, well, desperate.

4TH SPRING

A chilly morning, but no frost on the ground. Went back to clearing land after breakfast. Working at the soil's noticeably easier after yesterday's rain. I think I'm getting the hang of the billhook. Had a go at felling a couple of the leaner trees. Thank Yoba no-one saw the attempt. I got there in the end, but it was neither efficient nor elegant. The roots are the worst – I can't seem to find a simple way to dig them out.

All that hacking at the ground attracted a robin (Erithacus rubecula), after exposed invertebrates in the turned earth. I hope the little bugger is as eager to eat caterpillars off my plants.

I had about a third of an acre cleared by the end of the day, I think.

Andy stopped by in the afternoon. Walked up from the path that runs South through the wood towards the ranch (I ought to get to the bottom of that. It's obviously in regular use). Walked crops for a while, though I had trouble keeping up. Fairhaven strawberries have a good reputation in Grampleton and Chestervale, I remember that. I explained I was trying, inexpertly, to hand-till the soil. Andy offered to let me borrow his walk-behind tractor if I need to plan a field this Summer. A walk-behind tractor, apparently, is a glorified engine pulling a plough or sundry equipment. Said it's nice having another farmer in the valley, by way of goodbye.

The windflowers are peeping out in the wood.

5TH SPRING

A letter in the morning mail:

"Hello Leofric,

My name is Susan. Lewis told me you're a new farmer in town. I'm trapped on my farm in the mountains so I can't say hi in person! Hopefully the mess Joja made will be cleared out soon, because I'm going a little stir crazy. Can't wait to meet you and see how the farm is shaping up!

- Susan"

And three packets of strawberry seeds from Andy … the note just said: "Farmers got to stick together."

They're ready to dig up. I never thought I would be excited about parsnips, of all things. They're obviously amateur produce – I think I transplanted them a bit late – but it's MY produce! I grew something someone can eat! Pierre gave them a patronising look, but paid £26.5s for them all the same. I bought some more parsnip seeds, with broad beans and cauliflower seeds, to at least for now I'm still living off the sale of my car. And I've got a third of an acre.

Planted out the strawberries in front of the house. I'm pretty sure that spot will get the best sun. -Granddad used to grow strawberries in the garden. Did he teach me to plant them in full sun? Trust me to forget the simplest of lessons-. Planted the beans next to them, the cauliflowers with the parsnips in the tilled field.

Somehow I don't have a hammer (A rock doesn't work). Tried to buy one at the general store, but I was directed to the smithy/hardware store near the library. Saw Maru on my way back, sitting on a bench with … who is that redhead? She looked over once Maru gave me a big wave … and gave me a little wave. Just a little, shy, nay, cursory wave. [s]Why didn't I introduce myself.[/s]

6TH SPRING

Haven't looked at my e-mail in over a week, but lucky me, I still have a mailbox:

"To our valued JojaMart customers,

Our team members have removed the landslide caused by our drilling operation near the mountain lake. I'd like to remind you that our drilling operation is entirely legal (pursuant to init. L61901, JojaCo Amendment). Responsible stewardship of the local environment is our top priority!

We apologise for any inconvenience this accident may have caused.

As always, we value your continued support and patronage!

A. Morris,

JojaCo Customer Satisfaction Representative"

Usual Joja flannel. I'll give you 'patronage', you patronising tosser.

Saturday is market day in Pelican Town. It looks like the main way the locals buy their food, aside from JojaMart, anyway. There were a few traders out of Grampleton selling DVDs, toys, clothes, that sort of thing. I might well buy a microwave next weekend (And a kettle. I want hot food in the farmhouse for once).

I made the mistake of thinking a bit too deeply and not really looking where I was walking. And nearly walked into the redhead from the bench.

"Oh, hello!" I babbled as if we somehow knew each other. I think she said 'hi', I was too busy worrying about blushing. I think I was blushing. Why does this always seem to happen? Why couldn't it have been Robin or even the barmaid from the Stardrop?

It was then I realised she had some of my parsnips in her basket. She noticed me noticing, but I somehow doubt I made the right impression. "Oh, did you want something?"

I'm not 100% sure what happened next, beyond stammering something gauche like the dork I am.

I ended up walking up to the green on the North side of the village, away from the market. Mayor Lewis was up there, staring at a derelict building. It reminded me a bit of Buckland – nature slowly trying to reclaim it. Ivy clambering up the walls. The clock permanently stuck on 12:25. A young hawthorn leaning out of a window. In Lewis' own words "What an eyesore." He's never seen a derelict car park before.

It was the community centre, once constantly in use, according to Lewis. Why it's fallen into disuse I don't know, but Lewis blames it on TV. Joja's been sniffing after it, to convert it into a warehouse. That plan makes no sense (A warehouse for what? There's only so much a supermarket can sell), which says to me they're not intending for it to stay a warehouse. I wonder how much Joja's offering for it. Lewis would do better to rent that land. I suggested as much, but I don't think he was in the mood to listen.

Lewis unlocked the door to have a look around. The weeds have found their way inside as well, growing in the sunlight from the windows. Bits of rotted carpet on the floor, the pulpy remains of books. A broken fish tank in one corner, some kind of den in the other (If the kids had built that then colour me quite impressed).

There's something strangeabout that community centre. I swear I saw something behind Lewis, waving at me. A small, boxy creature with noodle arms. It evaporated as soon as it appeared, leaving me wondering just what I did see. Lewis reckons I'm seeing rats.

It was no rat.

7TH SPRING

"Robin here!

I know there's a lot of stone scattered around your farm. If you have a surplus, you might consider having me sink a well for you. A well can serve as a convenient place to refill your watering can.

Just swing by my shop with £50 when you're ready for it.

- Robin"

Does that count as a housewarming gift?

I ended up going back to the community centre. I can't quite fathom why, but I couldn't stop brooding upon what I saw yesterday. Or maybe didn't see. there's a strange hush to that place … like a graveyard. That den in the corner … I thought for a moment there was a breeze rattling its leafy thatch. 'Dilapidated' was the descriptor Lewis used: le mot juste. The food in the pantry is long gone, replaced by an unpleasant-looking fungus. The shelves home to long-leggity cellar spiders (Pholcus phalangoides). The peeling wallpaper's gone dry and parchment-like.

In the middle of the carpet there was a crisp, fresh notepad, almost glowing with newness. There was something written on it – some kind of arcane hieroglyphics. It felt like I was being watched.

Dinner this evening, at the Stardrop (Again …). Saw the redhead from the bench, but she was with someone this time. Some big blond fellow, boyishly handsome. The kind of guy who never has to wave money and catch the barmaid's eye to get served. They were sharing an order of sliders. Saw her giggle at something he said. I wonder if it was even funny. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Turns out Leah was in this evening, too. "Have you met Penny yet?" she asked, giving me a sly look. I changed the subject rather than reply to that remark. She was making a big assumption.