Jack finishes introducing himself to the eligible bachelorettes. He
also tries his hand at editing.
I know that in the game, the weather forecast is always accurate, and that from Chapter 4, today should be sunny. But I need rain to make this come out - artistic license, people!
--------------------------------------------
A Haven From the Storm
Chapter 6 - Rainy Day Friends are Also Good
I again dreamed of the woman in darkness speaking to me, saying things I only remembered disjointedly upon awakening, things that made no sense.
"It's good to have one of your blood so close again."
"Do not pass me by at harvest time."
I was already forming a routine, just as I had at work, and school before. Up with Lillia and Rick's roosters at six, let in Wowser and hug him, share a riceball, watch the weather, news and Farmer Fran. Got the early mornings all nailed down, I thought - have to work on the rest of the day.
Hmmm...they've changed their minds about the weather today. Now, they're calling it sunny only in the morning, clouding up with occasional showers by noon. The national news was depressing and I switched back to the weather until it was over, then caught the local events. Then, what was already my favorite show:
"Farmer Fran! Farmer Fran!"
"Yes, Jimmy?"
Fran led us through the techniques of effective seed sowing. I took notes all the time. I grinned to myself that I was getting a little crush on Farmer Fran - maybe I should write her a fan letter.
Well, time to hit the fields. I got the seeds, hoe and ax from the toolbox - come back later for the watering can if it doesn't rain.
"Wowser, you'd better stay inside today - wet dog is no good!"
He seemed to agree, occupying himself with shredding discarded MRE wrappers with his teeth.
Outside, I resolved not to repeat the work to collapse fiasco of yesterday. Elli had told me that if I had passed out, I would have spent the next day in the clinic recovering, and I couldn't afford to lose a day. "Prevention!" So I'd work at a more deliberate pace, and hit the hot springs when I felt exhausted.
I calculated that with the turnip seeds I planted today maturing in four days, then using the proceeds to buy seeds for eight patches, I could get away with attempting to clear two patches a day with a wide margin of error, giving me plenty of time to water and tend the planted crops. Then, I'd have early evenings to gather mountain vegetables.
I also thought about chickens. The small abandoned coop near the stream was large enough for maybe only five chickens. I bet I could easily tend twice that many - Thomas mentioned a man called Gotz who both cut trees and did construction. I must go see him about this problem.
Thus I was thinking through my plans, while following Fran's technique for planting. Each patch naturally divided into nine square subpatches, three on a side - the division coming from the ability of my tools to only handle one subpatch at a time. If I planted all nine subpatches, I would not be able to water the center patch, the plants there would wilt and I would waste 1/9th of my seeds. I had sketched out some schemes to get around that, but decided that Fran's "C" patch - leave one subpatch in the center of one side unplanted, providing easy access to all the other eight subpatches - was the way to go.
I carefully poked holes with my finger 5cm deep, put in exactly three seeds - the package said each seed had a 50% chance of germinating at that depth, so three seeds in a hole gave an 87.5% chance of at least one germinating - good enough - and then covered the holes with loose soil. This was much slower than just scattering the seeds on the ground, but I couldn't afford to waste a thing.
It was ten when I finished the planting. I went inside and got the hammer, then went back out and cleared two new patches. This took another two hours, at the end of which, I was sweating hard and panting. Good enough for now, I thought. Let's hit the hot springs and see what needs doing in the afternoon.
A repeat of yesterday's one hour hot soak brought the same refreshing results. Today, no one else had come up to the springs while I was there. As I left the changing room, the occasional drop of rain from the clouds that had gathered during my nap turned into a steady downpour. That takes care of the watering today, I thought, now I can see about those other things.
I went down the stairs and straight down the trail that joined the one from my farm to the mountains. Then, there to my left was the most solidly built log cabin I'd ever seen. I knocked on the door and a husky voice shouted, "It's open, come on in!"
Inside, the cabin looked comfortable - typical bachelor's dwellings with tools, books and half-finished projects scattered everywhere. The guy with the husky voice was a tall bearded man in his thirties, not quite as powerful as Zack, but pretty substantial. He came over and shook my hand.
"Hi Jack, I'm Gotz. I do most of the woodcutting and construction in the village. If you ever need anything along those lines, come see me. You'll love my work, I guarantee it!"
I explained my speculations about an expanded chicken house, allowing I couldn't do it for awhile until I had saved some money, but I'd appreciate an estimate when he had time.
"Estimate! Sure thing, hold on a second, let me find that notebook." He swept a stack of papers from the table to the floor. "Here 'tis! Lemme see...Erehwon Farm...Chicken House...here it is...that's 5,000G and 420 cords of wood. At 50G per cord, total would be 26,000G. Want the estimates for your other buildings also?"
"You've done all that? Why?"
He laughed. "Gotta keep on top of things. I survey all the buildings in town, figure out what might need repairs or expansions and record it." He slapped the notebook. "Got it all written down here. Gives me a good excuse to go into town. If I stayed up here in the mountains all the time, people would forget about me and I'd lose work!"
"You're a professional, all right. But 26,000Gs..."
"Well...you can always cut the cost by chopping your own lumber. You got an ax?"
I took mine out of the backpack and showed it to him. He whistled.
"Man, that's one crudded up tool! Take you a good half-hour to cut up one stump with that. You know Saibara the blacksmith? He lives right next to you. Better take this to him as soon as you can afford and get it improved.
"If you're going to cut your own wood, don't be going around cutting trees down carelessly! She doesn't like people poaching her trees! We people are blessed by the mountains and woods, you know. My advice is, stick to stumps and dead logs...I know how to use 'em so it's not a problem."
"Who's 'She'?"
"Ahh...that's right, you're new here. Umm...let's just say She's the owner of the forests and fields."
"Thought the land here wasn't privately owned."
"It isn't...oh, I'm not the best guy with words...haven't you talked with Pastor Carter yet?"
"Only at the funeral."
"You really should. He knows more about...certain things you should know... than anyone else."
"Everyone is telling me that. I'll put it on my list. Well, thanks for the estimates. Like I said, I'm struggling now, but I know how to save money, so we'll deal when I've got the cash."
"Great! Looking forward to it. Chicken houses are easy. Don't have to worry about busting up people's dishes!" He laughed.
I was about to leave when I saw someone else - a man wearing a green safari outfit and glasses with very odd lenses sitting in a corner reading an entomology textbook. Ha! Louis the scientist that Manna was griping about.
"Hello, Louis, is it? I'm Jack. I run the farm next door."
"Oh, hello. A farmer! Next door! That's wonderful! Your crops will have flowers and that will attract bees. Perhaps the rare species I've been searching for."
"I hope so. How do they differ from regular honeybees?"
"They look the same. But their dance...you know how bees dance to signify the direction and distance of the food they've found to their sisters?"
I nodded.
"Well, these bees' dance is a mirror image of the ordinary European Honeybee's. Their honey is unusual also - some say it has medicinal qualities, but I've not had a sample to test yet."
"I hope you find them. Can I ask you one question? What are those glasses for? I've never seen lenses like that."
"Oh! A physicist friend made these for me when I was at the State University. You know how bees see ultraviolet color that we can't see at all? These glasses translate ultraviolet to blue so I can see the world how the bees see it. It's very helpful to me!"
"I can imagine! Well, Louis, first bees I see on my farm, I'll let you know."
"Thanks! It's good to meet someone like you. Some of the people in this town don't understand the value of science. Why, would you believe that there was one woman who chased me out of her garden with a broom! Just because I stepped on a few plants that were wilting anyways."
"No accounting for some people. Gotz, good of you to put up a scientist in your place."
Gotz waved me off. "Ah, he's my second cousin. Brain of the family. He's no trouble at all. Plenty of room here."
We made our goodbyes, and I was back out on the trail. The rain was really coming down now, turning the path to mud.
When I got to Rose Square, I remembered Cliff. I'd been so busy the last couple of days, I hadn't had the chance to see how he was doing. He said he was staying at that big inn at the head of the square - I'll go drop in on him.
Opening the door and entering the inn, I marveled how large the main hall was. This place could easily hold twice as many people as lived in the village. A sweet looking redheaded girl about my age, wearing dirt smeared overalls saw me looking around and came up to me.
"Hello there, Jack. I'm Ann. Welcome to our Inn, and to our village. It's so good to have new people here. I work here with my Dad, cleaning and cooking. I like cleaning - I get dirty, but it gives me an excuse to wash in the hot springs!
"You should come eat here sometime. Both Dad and I are great cooks. One or the other of us always wins the Cooking Festival. Dad will tell you that he's better because he's been doing it longer, but..." she lowered her voice "...really, I'm the best!"
"That's wonderful, Ann. I'm sorta short of money now, but when I'm on my feet, I'll try your cooking out. Say, did a fella - traveling laborer - come here a couple of days ago?"
"You mean Cliff? Sure, he staying with us now. He's such a sweetie! He played me a couple of jigs on his fiddle while I was mopping the floor, keeping the beat with my mopping. Made the work into a game for me!"
"That's Cliff, OK."
"Oh, you know him?"
"Yes, he's a friend of mine. Is he around now?"
"Hmm...Dad's been giving him some odd jobs around the Inn. Maybe you should ask him, he's there behind the bar."
"OK, thanks. Very good to meet you Ann."
"You too! I'd shake your hand, but there's all this crud on mine..." She held them up laughing.
"See what you mean, I'll take a rain check."
"You got it, Jack! Don't be a stranger!"
I went up to the bar. The man standing behind it was also redheaded, with a thick mustache. He looked sort of glum - then again, a lot of bartenders do. I introduced myself.
"Yes, Jack, I remember you from the funeral. I'm Doug, the proprietor of this Inn. Your grandfather was an important man here. People valued his opinions, he was very sensible. Place won't be the same without him.
"Say, I saw you talking with Ann when you came in. What do you think of my daughter?"
I thought about it. I'd say to, Cliff, for example, that she was cute as a button. But do you say something like that right off to a girl's father? Better take the safe path and be bland.
"Ann? Oh, she seems really cheerful."
Doug's face got even more glum. "Cheerful, eh? That's what too many men say." He lowered his voice. "She's been a kind of a tomboy since she was little. She's got no boyfriends and no prospect of one with that attitude of hers. I'd like her to get married soon, she's already twenty-two." He sighed. "With my wife gone, I'd like some grandchildren around."
What could I say to all that? Luckily, Ann came up to us and broke up the mood.
"Hey Dad, what are you talking about with Jack? You look serious as the grave!"
"Never you mind, Ann, it's man talk!"
"OH! DAD! You think I'm a little girlie-girl like Popuri, doesn't know anything about life? Let me tell you, sir, working the tables here, ain't NOTHING you could say I haven't heard ten times already!" She flounced off with an angry look. "Man talk! Men don't talk, they grunt!"
"See what I mean, Jack?"
"Ahhh, yes. Say, Cliff is staying here, right? He's a friend of mine and I'd like to say hello. Is he around?"
Doug brightened a little. "Yeah, he's around back, repairing the trash bins. Once you get past his appearance, he's OK. He's a good worker. I've been giving him odd jobs and he gets them done quick - and right the first time. See that board you're standing on? It was loose for years - step on in wrong and it would fly up and hit you on the shin. He got it nailed down solid in a jiffy. Go around back and say hello if you like. See you later, Jack."
"Later, Jeff."
I went to the back of the Inn to see Cliff tightening up hinges on a trash bin. "Hey, hobo! Get out of that dumpster!"
Cliff turned around and laughed. "But officer, it's cold and I haven't eaten in three years." We both doubled over laughing and slapped each other's backs.
"Hey, Cliff, how's doing? Looks like you're a hit at this Inn already."
"Not half bad, Jack. How's the back forty, farmer-boy?"
"Shoot, enough work to *kill* a mule. You ought to come out some time and take a look. What a dump! Bet you never saw one like it."
"Don't be too sure, buddy. You don't know what 'dump' means until you've spent a night in a Liberty City homeless shelter! You don't dare keep two coins in one pocket. Them junkies hear 'em jingle, they'll kill you for 2Gs.
"But seriously, I like this place. It's clean and the people are nice. Kinda standoffish to me, but I can see why. Nobody's mean to me. Love this Inn. Doug's an old sourpuss, but I think he likes the way I work, he gives me free meals and half-off the room, so my cash is holding out.
"Man, the meals! Best I've had in years - real country cooking! Didja see that Ann? What a cutie! Dances around the Inn cleaning like it was a game."
I nudged him in the ribs. "Cutie? Cutie? Gonna settle down now, hobo? Wear a suit and tie and work behind a desk?"
"Darn, Jack, don't *do* that!" He stopped laughing. "One thing you ought to know. I was listening to people at the bar talking last night from up in my room. They were talking about you. Most of 'em were neutral 'He's new here, let's see what he's made of.' That kind of thing.
"But that Duke fellow doesn't like you. He was grumbling all night about 'Snot nosed city slicker dances in here and thinks he's a top dog.' Look out for him. He *is* a top dog. From what I was hearing, the Mayor's a figurehead - gives speeches at tomato festivals, kisses babies, that kind of stuff. Doug and Duke are the real big men here, everyone listens to them. Your grandpa was too - that's why most of 'em are giving you a chance. Doug, he's neutral about you too. Better keep on his good side. What happened with Duke?"
"Embarrassed him in front of some people. Don't think he liked it."
Cliff whistled low. "No wonder. He looks like a real proud man to me. You better find a way to make up to him, or he might have the villagers ready to kick your tail back to Edgeport if he works on them long enough."
"Thanks for the heads-up, buddy. I'll work that problem. Well, I've got a few things left to do, so I'll be off now. I'm serious about coming out to the farm. OK, hobo, I never saw you - get back in that dumpster!"
"Oh bless you, officer!"
We laughed as I left. I bet Cliff lands on his feet wherever he goes - gift of gab and hard worker is a tough combination to beat.
Rain showed no sign of letting up. It was past three already. I wanted to go to the library and read that book on mountain plants before I went foraging again. I remembered the library closed at four, so I ran up the main street, opened the library door and entered.
There were two floors of bookshelves and a few reading tables on the ground floor. Awful big library for such a little town, I thought. Then I saw the librarian's desk.
There was someone in a long Navy blue dress and a long black ponytail hunched over the desk with her back to the door. She must be fiercely concentrating on something - she showed no sign of hearing me enter, and I wasn't that quiet.
I walked over to the desk. Her back stayed turned to me, and now I could hear her mumbling. I was close enough to see that spread out on the desk were four dictionaries, three thesauruses, and a large number of handwritten sheets of paper. The handwriting was large, clear and rather elegant - easy to read. There were descriptions of various nautical characters, timelines of events set in the 1810s to 20s, and a couple of pages of a novel.
Reading those pages was, well, a treat. It was evidently a story about bluewater sailing in the early nineteenth century. The characters were so lifelike, I could close my eyes and see and hear them talk about the coming typhoon. Here, I thought, is a real author. I wonder if I've read any of her books, surely she's been published with talent like that.
She stopped leafing through the dictionaries and spoke with frustration in her voice.
"Oh, these dictionaries are useless! I wish we could afford an OED. They all tell me that both 'chantey' and 'shantey' mean 'sailor's rhythmic work song', but I need to know which is the older word. Drat!"
I thought she was talking to me, so I answered:
"Miss, I think 'chantey' is the older word."
Bad mistake! She must have been talking to herself and still didn't know I was there. She jumped a quarter-meter out of her chair, then spun around with her hand on her chest gasping for air.
"Grey! Don't sneak up on me like that! You know...oh, hello."
She was a pleasant looking girl, about my age. Her face calmed down quickly from the shock, and I could see she must be of a quiet and even disposition. And behind those spectacles, depth in her black eyes. Deepness, intelligence, character. How can you read that in a three second glance? But I just *knew* it.
I don't know how long we just stood there looking at each other. Couldn't have been but a few seconds. I got a curious feeling of *homecoming*. I was being welcomed home by a strange girl's eyes.
I broke up the tableau. "Excuse me, Miss...I'm sorry to have scared you. I thought you were talking to me."
"Oh, no, I was talking to myself...I do it too often, I fear. You're Jack, aren't you?"
I nodded.
"The old farmer's grandson. Yes, I saw you at the funeral. Sitting all alone up there. Oh, I know the Mayor was beside you, but your body language said *alone*. You handled it well. I don't know if I could be that brave in such a situation.
"Oh, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Mary, the town librarian."
We shook hands. An ordinary, two new acquaintances handshake, but I again had that odd feeling of being welcomed home.
"It's good to meet you. I wonder if I've read any of your books."
"My books? How could you have? They're just right here." She pointed at sheaves of paper in the desk's drawers.
"You're not a published author? But that story..." I pointed to the pages on the desk. "Brilliant!"
She looked puzzled. "That? That's just a novel I've been working on and off with for a couple of years. I just can't make it go. The only sources for the old seafarers I have are other novels. Moby Dick, the Horatio Hornblower series, a few other minor novels. So the story comes out so derivative.
"I need real information about those days. Admiralty reports, log books, diaries. But we haven't any here. I'd have to go to real libraries for them. Maybe the National Library. But I can't. I've never been out of this village except for Edgeport."
"Your Captain Harrison character isn't derivative. He's modeled after Captain Willowbee, right. And he's as real as if he were standing here with us."
She giggled. "Yes, he is an unforgettable character. I've only ridden the Coastal Princess a half-dozen times. But seeing him up on the bridge shouting at the deckhands! Once is enough to remember him by for life.
"But, why do you think 'chantey' is the older word?"
"It contains the word 'chant', so it's descriptive of what it names. That's sometimes how new words get started. Then, people come up with variants for their own reasons." I shrugged. "But I can't prove it. I don't have an OED, either."
"That's very logical. Stands to reason, you being a rocket scientist. You've had a formal education."
I was getting annoyed at being called a rocket scientist.
"Wasn't actually a scientist. Was an engineer. And a very junior one at that. I only did a Bachelor's degree."
"Even then. I've never been to a real school. We don't have one here. We're all home schooled. I would have liked to go to college."
"You're young, you still could."
"Oh, no. I couldn't leave my folks and go to a strange city. I wouldn't be able to stand it away from them.
"But you didn't really come here to read my works in progress, did you?" She gave a curiously wan smile.
"Actually, no. I need to know about the local flora. I understand that a man called Basil who lives here is an expert. I've been told his books are here in this library. Is this true?"
She laughed. "They are. Basil's my dad. You want to read his books?"
"The ones on edible and medicinal mountain plants especially."
"Right. They're on the second floor. Please come with me.
"I'll tell Dad tonight you came to read his books. No one else does, anyone who is interested read them all years ago. He'll want to meet you then. Talk with him about plants and ask about his books, and you'll have a friend for life!"
She was speaking as we climbed the steps to the second floor. We went to a shelf and she pulled out a book. The title on the cover read:
"Basil's Field Guide to Edible and Medicinal Mountain Plants of Mineral Village"
"This looks like what I need, all right."
We went down the stairs again and I sat at a reading table, opening the book in front of me.
"Mary, it's nearly four. The sign said that's closing time. Could you keep this book at your desk and I'll come tomorrow?"
"Oh, the closing time is not set in stone. I can wait for you. I'm patient." That wry smile again.
"Thank you so much."
I reached into my backpack for paper and pencil. I got them out, but there was something else in there. I brought it out. It was a young bamboo shoot, an especially delicate looking one.
"I was gathering them last night. I must have missed that one when I was loading the shipping bin." I noticed Mary looking at it.
"Here, do you like these? You can have it."
She blushed. "Oh, thank you. But can I really keep it?"
"Sure, plenty more up there. I'll be collecting again tonight."
She was breaking off pieces of the shoot and nibbling.
"Mmm..this is an especially good one. Here, try it."
She fed me a piece.
"I've never tasted anything like that. Excellent."
"You didn't eat any of them?"
"I was shipping all I collected. I'm really short of cash right now."
"Oh. Well, I won't pry into your affairs."
"No secret, lost all my money in a bank failure."
"Everything I hear about the cities these days sounds like it's out of Steinbeck." She shivered. "What horrible times these are! Do you think the depression will come here?"
"Don't know."
I noticed she had finished the shoot.
"Say, you were really hungry. I'm keeping you from dinner. I should go."
"No, please finish with the book. That was better than dinner anyways. Mom is a so-so cook. Except for her cakes."
I had found the section I wanted. Basil wrote in a clear, factual manner. The book was divided into seasons. The spring section described the bamboo shoots, and also the colored grasses. The green grass made a refreshing tea. The blue grass had recuperative powers. The red grass was poisonous, but Basil allowed as experts could produce medicines from it. I copied it all down.
There were also illustrations of the various plants, expertly done.
"Mary, did your father do the drawings also?"
"No, Jeff, from the General Store did those. He's quite an accomplished sketcher, don't you think?"
"Indeed. Mary, I think I have all I need for now. I don't want to keep you any later. You must be tired and your folks may be worried."
"I didn't mind a bit. I run the library mainly to preserve my father's books. It's a treat for someone to come in and read them. Thank you."
"Thank you, Mary. I must go now, there's still work to do."
"So late? Aren't you tired?"
"Got a good rest sitting here. I'm ready for more."
She teased: "Getting to like farming, eh? Better than those noisy rockets, right?"
"The chickens that get me up at six are noisier than any rocket."
"Well, if you must go, that's how it is." She looked seriously at me. "You'll be back again, right?"
"Sure." I swept my hands at the shelves. "Plenty here that needs reading."
"Well, I'll be here, ten to four as always. You must come back now. You promised." She giggled.
"Good night."
What an interesting character to find in such an out of the way place, I reflected as I walked home.
The rains had stopped at last. When I got to the farm, I saw there was an envelope in the mailbox. It contained 300G and a receipt for the bamboo shoots, signed by Zack. My first money earned in the village - and it came from scavenging, not farming, I sighed.
There was time for two runs up the springs hill, collecting bamboo shoots and grasses, then putting them in the bin. The last time, I chose an especially fine looking bamboo shoot and put it aside. Mary was kind enough to stay late for me to finish the book, so I'd give this to her tomorrow.
It was past seven when I got in the door. Wowser jumped up and came at me, hoping for another hug. I obliged him.
I should go to bed now. But I was drawn to the bookshelf for some reason. If I was going to make this farm go, I needed to know all about what I could do with this land. Here was nearly three hundred years of information compiled by my ancestors about the land. Getting it into usable form might be the same kind of data reduction work I was already well used to.
I was compelled to start. Was it Mary's example with her novels that she worked on for years just to be stored in a desk in a town no one had heard of? Was it a desire to continue what ten generations of my family had done?
I pulled out a notebook. The dates were from ninety to sixty years ago. I started copying the temperatures onto a grid I had blocked out. I don't remember falling asleep at the table, but it must have been past midnight.
I know that in the game, the weather forecast is always accurate, and that from Chapter 4, today should be sunny. But I need rain to make this come out - artistic license, people!
--------------------------------------------
A Haven From the Storm
Chapter 6 - Rainy Day Friends are Also Good
I again dreamed of the woman in darkness speaking to me, saying things I only remembered disjointedly upon awakening, things that made no sense.
"It's good to have one of your blood so close again."
"Do not pass me by at harvest time."
I was already forming a routine, just as I had at work, and school before. Up with Lillia and Rick's roosters at six, let in Wowser and hug him, share a riceball, watch the weather, news and Farmer Fran. Got the early mornings all nailed down, I thought - have to work on the rest of the day.
Hmmm...they've changed their minds about the weather today. Now, they're calling it sunny only in the morning, clouding up with occasional showers by noon. The national news was depressing and I switched back to the weather until it was over, then caught the local events. Then, what was already my favorite show:
"Farmer Fran! Farmer Fran!"
"Yes, Jimmy?"
Fran led us through the techniques of effective seed sowing. I took notes all the time. I grinned to myself that I was getting a little crush on Farmer Fran - maybe I should write her a fan letter.
Well, time to hit the fields. I got the seeds, hoe and ax from the toolbox - come back later for the watering can if it doesn't rain.
"Wowser, you'd better stay inside today - wet dog is no good!"
He seemed to agree, occupying himself with shredding discarded MRE wrappers with his teeth.
Outside, I resolved not to repeat the work to collapse fiasco of yesterday. Elli had told me that if I had passed out, I would have spent the next day in the clinic recovering, and I couldn't afford to lose a day. "Prevention!" So I'd work at a more deliberate pace, and hit the hot springs when I felt exhausted.
I calculated that with the turnip seeds I planted today maturing in four days, then using the proceeds to buy seeds for eight patches, I could get away with attempting to clear two patches a day with a wide margin of error, giving me plenty of time to water and tend the planted crops. Then, I'd have early evenings to gather mountain vegetables.
I also thought about chickens. The small abandoned coop near the stream was large enough for maybe only five chickens. I bet I could easily tend twice that many - Thomas mentioned a man called Gotz who both cut trees and did construction. I must go see him about this problem.
Thus I was thinking through my plans, while following Fran's technique for planting. Each patch naturally divided into nine square subpatches, three on a side - the division coming from the ability of my tools to only handle one subpatch at a time. If I planted all nine subpatches, I would not be able to water the center patch, the plants there would wilt and I would waste 1/9th of my seeds. I had sketched out some schemes to get around that, but decided that Fran's "C" patch - leave one subpatch in the center of one side unplanted, providing easy access to all the other eight subpatches - was the way to go.
I carefully poked holes with my finger 5cm deep, put in exactly three seeds - the package said each seed had a 50% chance of germinating at that depth, so three seeds in a hole gave an 87.5% chance of at least one germinating - good enough - and then covered the holes with loose soil. This was much slower than just scattering the seeds on the ground, but I couldn't afford to waste a thing.
It was ten when I finished the planting. I went inside and got the hammer, then went back out and cleared two new patches. This took another two hours, at the end of which, I was sweating hard and panting. Good enough for now, I thought. Let's hit the hot springs and see what needs doing in the afternoon.
A repeat of yesterday's one hour hot soak brought the same refreshing results. Today, no one else had come up to the springs while I was there. As I left the changing room, the occasional drop of rain from the clouds that had gathered during my nap turned into a steady downpour. That takes care of the watering today, I thought, now I can see about those other things.
I went down the stairs and straight down the trail that joined the one from my farm to the mountains. Then, there to my left was the most solidly built log cabin I'd ever seen. I knocked on the door and a husky voice shouted, "It's open, come on in!"
Inside, the cabin looked comfortable - typical bachelor's dwellings with tools, books and half-finished projects scattered everywhere. The guy with the husky voice was a tall bearded man in his thirties, not quite as powerful as Zack, but pretty substantial. He came over and shook my hand.
"Hi Jack, I'm Gotz. I do most of the woodcutting and construction in the village. If you ever need anything along those lines, come see me. You'll love my work, I guarantee it!"
I explained my speculations about an expanded chicken house, allowing I couldn't do it for awhile until I had saved some money, but I'd appreciate an estimate when he had time.
"Estimate! Sure thing, hold on a second, let me find that notebook." He swept a stack of papers from the table to the floor. "Here 'tis! Lemme see...Erehwon Farm...Chicken House...here it is...that's 5,000G and 420 cords of wood. At 50G per cord, total would be 26,000G. Want the estimates for your other buildings also?"
"You've done all that? Why?"
He laughed. "Gotta keep on top of things. I survey all the buildings in town, figure out what might need repairs or expansions and record it." He slapped the notebook. "Got it all written down here. Gives me a good excuse to go into town. If I stayed up here in the mountains all the time, people would forget about me and I'd lose work!"
"You're a professional, all right. But 26,000Gs..."
"Well...you can always cut the cost by chopping your own lumber. You got an ax?"
I took mine out of the backpack and showed it to him. He whistled.
"Man, that's one crudded up tool! Take you a good half-hour to cut up one stump with that. You know Saibara the blacksmith? He lives right next to you. Better take this to him as soon as you can afford and get it improved.
"If you're going to cut your own wood, don't be going around cutting trees down carelessly! She doesn't like people poaching her trees! We people are blessed by the mountains and woods, you know. My advice is, stick to stumps and dead logs...I know how to use 'em so it's not a problem."
"Who's 'She'?"
"Ahh...that's right, you're new here. Umm...let's just say She's the owner of the forests and fields."
"Thought the land here wasn't privately owned."
"It isn't...oh, I'm not the best guy with words...haven't you talked with Pastor Carter yet?"
"Only at the funeral."
"You really should. He knows more about...certain things you should know... than anyone else."
"Everyone is telling me that. I'll put it on my list. Well, thanks for the estimates. Like I said, I'm struggling now, but I know how to save money, so we'll deal when I've got the cash."
"Great! Looking forward to it. Chicken houses are easy. Don't have to worry about busting up people's dishes!" He laughed.
I was about to leave when I saw someone else - a man wearing a green safari outfit and glasses with very odd lenses sitting in a corner reading an entomology textbook. Ha! Louis the scientist that Manna was griping about.
"Hello, Louis, is it? I'm Jack. I run the farm next door."
"Oh, hello. A farmer! Next door! That's wonderful! Your crops will have flowers and that will attract bees. Perhaps the rare species I've been searching for."
"I hope so. How do they differ from regular honeybees?"
"They look the same. But their dance...you know how bees dance to signify the direction and distance of the food they've found to their sisters?"
I nodded.
"Well, these bees' dance is a mirror image of the ordinary European Honeybee's. Their honey is unusual also - some say it has medicinal qualities, but I've not had a sample to test yet."
"I hope you find them. Can I ask you one question? What are those glasses for? I've never seen lenses like that."
"Oh! A physicist friend made these for me when I was at the State University. You know how bees see ultraviolet color that we can't see at all? These glasses translate ultraviolet to blue so I can see the world how the bees see it. It's very helpful to me!"
"I can imagine! Well, Louis, first bees I see on my farm, I'll let you know."
"Thanks! It's good to meet someone like you. Some of the people in this town don't understand the value of science. Why, would you believe that there was one woman who chased me out of her garden with a broom! Just because I stepped on a few plants that were wilting anyways."
"No accounting for some people. Gotz, good of you to put up a scientist in your place."
Gotz waved me off. "Ah, he's my second cousin. Brain of the family. He's no trouble at all. Plenty of room here."
We made our goodbyes, and I was back out on the trail. The rain was really coming down now, turning the path to mud.
When I got to Rose Square, I remembered Cliff. I'd been so busy the last couple of days, I hadn't had the chance to see how he was doing. He said he was staying at that big inn at the head of the square - I'll go drop in on him.
Opening the door and entering the inn, I marveled how large the main hall was. This place could easily hold twice as many people as lived in the village. A sweet looking redheaded girl about my age, wearing dirt smeared overalls saw me looking around and came up to me.
"Hello there, Jack. I'm Ann. Welcome to our Inn, and to our village. It's so good to have new people here. I work here with my Dad, cleaning and cooking. I like cleaning - I get dirty, but it gives me an excuse to wash in the hot springs!
"You should come eat here sometime. Both Dad and I are great cooks. One or the other of us always wins the Cooking Festival. Dad will tell you that he's better because he's been doing it longer, but..." she lowered her voice "...really, I'm the best!"
"That's wonderful, Ann. I'm sorta short of money now, but when I'm on my feet, I'll try your cooking out. Say, did a fella - traveling laborer - come here a couple of days ago?"
"You mean Cliff? Sure, he staying with us now. He's such a sweetie! He played me a couple of jigs on his fiddle while I was mopping the floor, keeping the beat with my mopping. Made the work into a game for me!"
"That's Cliff, OK."
"Oh, you know him?"
"Yes, he's a friend of mine. Is he around now?"
"Hmm...Dad's been giving him some odd jobs around the Inn. Maybe you should ask him, he's there behind the bar."
"OK, thanks. Very good to meet you Ann."
"You too! I'd shake your hand, but there's all this crud on mine..." She held them up laughing.
"See what you mean, I'll take a rain check."
"You got it, Jack! Don't be a stranger!"
I went up to the bar. The man standing behind it was also redheaded, with a thick mustache. He looked sort of glum - then again, a lot of bartenders do. I introduced myself.
"Yes, Jack, I remember you from the funeral. I'm Doug, the proprietor of this Inn. Your grandfather was an important man here. People valued his opinions, he was very sensible. Place won't be the same without him.
"Say, I saw you talking with Ann when you came in. What do you think of my daughter?"
I thought about it. I'd say to, Cliff, for example, that she was cute as a button. But do you say something like that right off to a girl's father? Better take the safe path and be bland.
"Ann? Oh, she seems really cheerful."
Doug's face got even more glum. "Cheerful, eh? That's what too many men say." He lowered his voice. "She's been a kind of a tomboy since she was little. She's got no boyfriends and no prospect of one with that attitude of hers. I'd like her to get married soon, she's already twenty-two." He sighed. "With my wife gone, I'd like some grandchildren around."
What could I say to all that? Luckily, Ann came up to us and broke up the mood.
"Hey Dad, what are you talking about with Jack? You look serious as the grave!"
"Never you mind, Ann, it's man talk!"
"OH! DAD! You think I'm a little girlie-girl like Popuri, doesn't know anything about life? Let me tell you, sir, working the tables here, ain't NOTHING you could say I haven't heard ten times already!" She flounced off with an angry look. "Man talk! Men don't talk, they grunt!"
"See what I mean, Jack?"
"Ahhh, yes. Say, Cliff is staying here, right? He's a friend of mine and I'd like to say hello. Is he around?"
Doug brightened a little. "Yeah, he's around back, repairing the trash bins. Once you get past his appearance, he's OK. He's a good worker. I've been giving him odd jobs and he gets them done quick - and right the first time. See that board you're standing on? It was loose for years - step on in wrong and it would fly up and hit you on the shin. He got it nailed down solid in a jiffy. Go around back and say hello if you like. See you later, Jack."
"Later, Jeff."
I went to the back of the Inn to see Cliff tightening up hinges on a trash bin. "Hey, hobo! Get out of that dumpster!"
Cliff turned around and laughed. "But officer, it's cold and I haven't eaten in three years." We both doubled over laughing and slapped each other's backs.
"Hey, Cliff, how's doing? Looks like you're a hit at this Inn already."
"Not half bad, Jack. How's the back forty, farmer-boy?"
"Shoot, enough work to *kill* a mule. You ought to come out some time and take a look. What a dump! Bet you never saw one like it."
"Don't be too sure, buddy. You don't know what 'dump' means until you've spent a night in a Liberty City homeless shelter! You don't dare keep two coins in one pocket. Them junkies hear 'em jingle, they'll kill you for 2Gs.
"But seriously, I like this place. It's clean and the people are nice. Kinda standoffish to me, but I can see why. Nobody's mean to me. Love this Inn. Doug's an old sourpuss, but I think he likes the way I work, he gives me free meals and half-off the room, so my cash is holding out.
"Man, the meals! Best I've had in years - real country cooking! Didja see that Ann? What a cutie! Dances around the Inn cleaning like it was a game."
I nudged him in the ribs. "Cutie? Cutie? Gonna settle down now, hobo? Wear a suit and tie and work behind a desk?"
"Darn, Jack, don't *do* that!" He stopped laughing. "One thing you ought to know. I was listening to people at the bar talking last night from up in my room. They were talking about you. Most of 'em were neutral 'He's new here, let's see what he's made of.' That kind of thing.
"But that Duke fellow doesn't like you. He was grumbling all night about 'Snot nosed city slicker dances in here and thinks he's a top dog.' Look out for him. He *is* a top dog. From what I was hearing, the Mayor's a figurehead - gives speeches at tomato festivals, kisses babies, that kind of stuff. Doug and Duke are the real big men here, everyone listens to them. Your grandpa was too - that's why most of 'em are giving you a chance. Doug, he's neutral about you too. Better keep on his good side. What happened with Duke?"
"Embarrassed him in front of some people. Don't think he liked it."
Cliff whistled low. "No wonder. He looks like a real proud man to me. You better find a way to make up to him, or he might have the villagers ready to kick your tail back to Edgeport if he works on them long enough."
"Thanks for the heads-up, buddy. I'll work that problem. Well, I've got a few things left to do, so I'll be off now. I'm serious about coming out to the farm. OK, hobo, I never saw you - get back in that dumpster!"
"Oh bless you, officer!"
We laughed as I left. I bet Cliff lands on his feet wherever he goes - gift of gab and hard worker is a tough combination to beat.
Rain showed no sign of letting up. It was past three already. I wanted to go to the library and read that book on mountain plants before I went foraging again. I remembered the library closed at four, so I ran up the main street, opened the library door and entered.
There were two floors of bookshelves and a few reading tables on the ground floor. Awful big library for such a little town, I thought. Then I saw the librarian's desk.
There was someone in a long Navy blue dress and a long black ponytail hunched over the desk with her back to the door. She must be fiercely concentrating on something - she showed no sign of hearing me enter, and I wasn't that quiet.
I walked over to the desk. Her back stayed turned to me, and now I could hear her mumbling. I was close enough to see that spread out on the desk were four dictionaries, three thesauruses, and a large number of handwritten sheets of paper. The handwriting was large, clear and rather elegant - easy to read. There were descriptions of various nautical characters, timelines of events set in the 1810s to 20s, and a couple of pages of a novel.
Reading those pages was, well, a treat. It was evidently a story about bluewater sailing in the early nineteenth century. The characters were so lifelike, I could close my eyes and see and hear them talk about the coming typhoon. Here, I thought, is a real author. I wonder if I've read any of her books, surely she's been published with talent like that.
She stopped leafing through the dictionaries and spoke with frustration in her voice.
"Oh, these dictionaries are useless! I wish we could afford an OED. They all tell me that both 'chantey' and 'shantey' mean 'sailor's rhythmic work song', but I need to know which is the older word. Drat!"
I thought she was talking to me, so I answered:
"Miss, I think 'chantey' is the older word."
Bad mistake! She must have been talking to herself and still didn't know I was there. She jumped a quarter-meter out of her chair, then spun around with her hand on her chest gasping for air.
"Grey! Don't sneak up on me like that! You know...oh, hello."
She was a pleasant looking girl, about my age. Her face calmed down quickly from the shock, and I could see she must be of a quiet and even disposition. And behind those spectacles, depth in her black eyes. Deepness, intelligence, character. How can you read that in a three second glance? But I just *knew* it.
I don't know how long we just stood there looking at each other. Couldn't have been but a few seconds. I got a curious feeling of *homecoming*. I was being welcomed home by a strange girl's eyes.
I broke up the tableau. "Excuse me, Miss...I'm sorry to have scared you. I thought you were talking to me."
"Oh, no, I was talking to myself...I do it too often, I fear. You're Jack, aren't you?"
I nodded.
"The old farmer's grandson. Yes, I saw you at the funeral. Sitting all alone up there. Oh, I know the Mayor was beside you, but your body language said *alone*. You handled it well. I don't know if I could be that brave in such a situation.
"Oh, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Mary, the town librarian."
We shook hands. An ordinary, two new acquaintances handshake, but I again had that odd feeling of being welcomed home.
"It's good to meet you. I wonder if I've read any of your books."
"My books? How could you have? They're just right here." She pointed at sheaves of paper in the desk's drawers.
"You're not a published author? But that story..." I pointed to the pages on the desk. "Brilliant!"
She looked puzzled. "That? That's just a novel I've been working on and off with for a couple of years. I just can't make it go. The only sources for the old seafarers I have are other novels. Moby Dick, the Horatio Hornblower series, a few other minor novels. So the story comes out so derivative.
"I need real information about those days. Admiralty reports, log books, diaries. But we haven't any here. I'd have to go to real libraries for them. Maybe the National Library. But I can't. I've never been out of this village except for Edgeport."
"Your Captain Harrison character isn't derivative. He's modeled after Captain Willowbee, right. And he's as real as if he were standing here with us."
She giggled. "Yes, he is an unforgettable character. I've only ridden the Coastal Princess a half-dozen times. But seeing him up on the bridge shouting at the deckhands! Once is enough to remember him by for life.
"But, why do you think 'chantey' is the older word?"
"It contains the word 'chant', so it's descriptive of what it names. That's sometimes how new words get started. Then, people come up with variants for their own reasons." I shrugged. "But I can't prove it. I don't have an OED, either."
"That's very logical. Stands to reason, you being a rocket scientist. You've had a formal education."
I was getting annoyed at being called a rocket scientist.
"Wasn't actually a scientist. Was an engineer. And a very junior one at that. I only did a Bachelor's degree."
"Even then. I've never been to a real school. We don't have one here. We're all home schooled. I would have liked to go to college."
"You're young, you still could."
"Oh, no. I couldn't leave my folks and go to a strange city. I wouldn't be able to stand it away from them.
"But you didn't really come here to read my works in progress, did you?" She gave a curiously wan smile.
"Actually, no. I need to know about the local flora. I understand that a man called Basil who lives here is an expert. I've been told his books are here in this library. Is this true?"
She laughed. "They are. Basil's my dad. You want to read his books?"
"The ones on edible and medicinal mountain plants especially."
"Right. They're on the second floor. Please come with me.
"I'll tell Dad tonight you came to read his books. No one else does, anyone who is interested read them all years ago. He'll want to meet you then. Talk with him about plants and ask about his books, and you'll have a friend for life!"
She was speaking as we climbed the steps to the second floor. We went to a shelf and she pulled out a book. The title on the cover read:
"Basil's Field Guide to Edible and Medicinal Mountain Plants of Mineral Village"
"This looks like what I need, all right."
We went down the stairs again and I sat at a reading table, opening the book in front of me.
"Mary, it's nearly four. The sign said that's closing time. Could you keep this book at your desk and I'll come tomorrow?"
"Oh, the closing time is not set in stone. I can wait for you. I'm patient." That wry smile again.
"Thank you so much."
I reached into my backpack for paper and pencil. I got them out, but there was something else in there. I brought it out. It was a young bamboo shoot, an especially delicate looking one.
"I was gathering them last night. I must have missed that one when I was loading the shipping bin." I noticed Mary looking at it.
"Here, do you like these? You can have it."
She blushed. "Oh, thank you. But can I really keep it?"
"Sure, plenty more up there. I'll be collecting again tonight."
She was breaking off pieces of the shoot and nibbling.
"Mmm..this is an especially good one. Here, try it."
She fed me a piece.
"I've never tasted anything like that. Excellent."
"You didn't eat any of them?"
"I was shipping all I collected. I'm really short of cash right now."
"Oh. Well, I won't pry into your affairs."
"No secret, lost all my money in a bank failure."
"Everything I hear about the cities these days sounds like it's out of Steinbeck." She shivered. "What horrible times these are! Do you think the depression will come here?"
"Don't know."
I noticed she had finished the shoot.
"Say, you were really hungry. I'm keeping you from dinner. I should go."
"No, please finish with the book. That was better than dinner anyways. Mom is a so-so cook. Except for her cakes."
I had found the section I wanted. Basil wrote in a clear, factual manner. The book was divided into seasons. The spring section described the bamboo shoots, and also the colored grasses. The green grass made a refreshing tea. The blue grass had recuperative powers. The red grass was poisonous, but Basil allowed as experts could produce medicines from it. I copied it all down.
There were also illustrations of the various plants, expertly done.
"Mary, did your father do the drawings also?"
"No, Jeff, from the General Store did those. He's quite an accomplished sketcher, don't you think?"
"Indeed. Mary, I think I have all I need for now. I don't want to keep you any later. You must be tired and your folks may be worried."
"I didn't mind a bit. I run the library mainly to preserve my father's books. It's a treat for someone to come in and read them. Thank you."
"Thank you, Mary. I must go now, there's still work to do."
"So late? Aren't you tired?"
"Got a good rest sitting here. I'm ready for more."
She teased: "Getting to like farming, eh? Better than those noisy rockets, right?"
"The chickens that get me up at six are noisier than any rocket."
"Well, if you must go, that's how it is." She looked seriously at me. "You'll be back again, right?"
"Sure." I swept my hands at the shelves. "Plenty here that needs reading."
"Well, I'll be here, ten to four as always. You must come back now. You promised." She giggled.
"Good night."
What an interesting character to find in such an out of the way place, I reflected as I walked home.
The rains had stopped at last. When I got to the farm, I saw there was an envelope in the mailbox. It contained 300G and a receipt for the bamboo shoots, signed by Zack. My first money earned in the village - and it came from scavenging, not farming, I sighed.
There was time for two runs up the springs hill, collecting bamboo shoots and grasses, then putting them in the bin. The last time, I chose an especially fine looking bamboo shoot and put it aside. Mary was kind enough to stay late for me to finish the book, so I'd give this to her tomorrow.
It was past seven when I got in the door. Wowser jumped up and came at me, hoping for another hug. I obliged him.
I should go to bed now. But I was drawn to the bookshelf for some reason. If I was going to make this farm go, I needed to know all about what I could do with this land. Here was nearly three hundred years of information compiled by my ancestors about the land. Getting it into usable form might be the same kind of data reduction work I was already well used to.
I was compelled to start. Was it Mary's example with her novels that she worked on for years just to be stored in a desk in a town no one had heard of? Was it a desire to continue what ten generations of my family had done?
I pulled out a notebook. The dates were from ninety to sixty years ago. I started copying the temperatures onto a grid I had blocked out. I don't remember falling asleep at the table, but it must have been past midnight.
