42 Vhalar 722
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
While a fruit picking trial was, in fact, necessary for survival (No one wanted to go hungry through the cold seasons, or to have too little fruit to fend off scurvy) it was also something of a treat and a holiday. A fun day out, together, without quite such physical work as digging ditches or working a ram on one of the buildings, or any of the other exhausting, heavy labour tasks that were essential to getting Rosebay set up.
The previous evening, Agnes had used the spare heat and space in the ovens to cook a stack of turnip pasties alongside the evening meal. That meant that now they could carry their pasties with them and stay out at the fruit patch all trial.
Dan made sure that everyone filled their waterskin and carried a sling and a pouch of stones alongside their eating knife. They had all had some basic with the slings, although they weren't particularly good with them as yet. Still, some skill was better than none, and if they go into the habit of carry their sling whenever they left the main site (which had its own protections from wild animals and bandits) then that was a bonus. He also marked their intended destination on the board set up for that purpose, so that anyone looking for them would know where they went.
Joy and survival had always been intertwined for Dan, so much so that he had never really considered that they might be separate. His joys had always been quiet ones though - the pleasure of a good meal, the awe of a gorgeous sunset, the satisfaction of completing what he set out to do, or the quiet contentment at the end of the trial when he could relax with a mug of something cradled in his hands.
Once everyone was ready, Dan led them to the place he had found during his survey where grapes and blackberries grew. Gathering baskets swung from various hands as they walked. The rain was gone, the sun was shining, and all in all, it was a perfect trial for gathering food, especially fruit.
The pattern of the land had shifted where all the Saun rain had turned the bare dry ground to mud and the mud had slid or slipped or shifted, so Dan navigated mostly by the sun. The fruit patch was still where he had thought it was though, and the fruit smelled sweet and ripe.
"Grapes first," he decided. "Blackberries later." Grapes preserved better and easier than blackberries did. Grapes, after all, could be dried into raisins, which were easily portable in any pocket or bag. Blackberries had to be boiled down into a syrup, and that was far more awkward to transport, seeing as the jars or other containers needed to be protected during travel, lest sticky syrup spill over everything. "Don't pick the individual grapes," he went on, "find the top of the bunch and cut through or break off the stem there, then put the whole bunch in the basket." He demonstrated by finding a small bunch, tracing a light finger up it to the stem (lifting a few leaves out of his way as he went) and then cutting it free with his knife. The bunch rested in his hand for a moment, crimson globes glowing sullenly like blood under the sun, and then he laid it in the basket. They weren't quite evenly ripe the way they would have been in a well-tended vineyard, such as legend said had once been here, but that was only to be expected. They hadn't been tended by anything except sun and rain and wind and their own deep rooted stubborn survival.
He waved the rest of the settlers to come and do the same. They eagerly joined him, clustering around the vine like one of the bunches of grapes that they were harvesting. Elbows collided with arms and ribs, hips bumped against hips. Some of the settlers stood on tiptoe or boosted themselves up on the half-tumbled wall to get to the highest bunches, others stooped to get at the lower vines.
Dan tried not to flinch under the jostling, but there wasn't really the space to spread out. At some point, if all went well, maybe Rosebay could bring back the vineyards that once stood here. If that happened, he thought, he might want to grow them wider and more evenly. And more of them, of course, as many as they had water for. What they had here was a steady, reliable source - grape vines being a perennial plant, they could pick grapes from it every arc - but if there were vines being grown deliberately, they would be more accessible. That was something to consider for another time, it being completely the wrong season to plant new vines.
He eased back from the main crush, checking on the baskets instead and making sure that some were left empty for now, so that they could hold the blackberries later.
It was easier with a little more space - for him at least. He could breathe, he could move enough to Sign, he wasn't trapped in a space he couldn't escape, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Judging by the burble of laughter and cheerful voices though, the other settlers didn't feel the same, only him.
Dan took a slow breath, let it gently out again, swallowed down the ache in his gut that reminded him why he had preferred to live alone for so long. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't even his own fault - he hadn't asked to be different from the assumed normal of things, the one considered weird and other and strange, the outlier that no one could be bothered to consider, the one expected to crush himself into the box of 'normal' just to be tolerated let alone accepted. He just was, and that was all there was to it. You didn't blame the clouds for being different to the preferred blue sky, you didn't blame a horse for being grey rather than brown. That was the way they were, too.
He lifted his head as one of the settlers glanced back at him and managed a honest smile, passing the baskets along to where they were needed.
By the time that all the grapes had been picked, it was time for the noon meal. Dan led the settlers a little way from the half-fallen wall where the grapes grew, and the bramble patch beside it, to a nearby area of bare ground. There, where there was nothing to worry about stinging or scratching, he gestured for them to find seats.
He scooped a shallow hollow in the dirt, lined it with a square of clean, waterproofed canvas, and poured perhaps a cupful of water into the hollow, making an improvised basin for people to wash their hands in. That done, everyone scattered into little clumps and clusters of interest and friendship, settled themselves on the ground, and dug out their pasties.
Dan settled slightly off to the side of most of them, unwilling to intrude on their enjoyment, and rummaged for his own pasty. He rested his waterskin against his knee and alternated bites of turnip pasty with mouthfuls of lukewarm water. The pasty was as good cold as it would have been hot, competently made and seasoned. He filled his belly in quick, neat, bites, efficiently devouring every crumb in as little time as possible, as he had learned to do in the orphanage when eating around others. Dragging the meal out in any way had just led to him losing parts of his meals to other, faster, eaters. Maybe it wasn't as necessary now, but old habits died very hard and survival was the oldest habit of all. He licked pastry crumbs off his fingers and washed them down with a final mouthful of water, then looked around.
He wasn't, quite, the fastest eater. Dust quarter children learned to eat quickly, without wasting so much as a crumb, too. He considered for a moment, then picked himself off the ground and made his way over to the gathering baskets. There, he eyed up the clumps, counting grapes in his head, and finally picked out a cluster. He plucked them one by one from the stem and passed them round so that everyone could have a taste of their harvest.
The one he got, wasn't quite fully ripe - it must have been on the shaded side of the cluster - so there is a tart edge to the sweetness. He sucks the last of the pulp off the seed and tucks the seed itself carefully away in a pocket. It might not be the right season to plant grapes now, but he can save the seeds for when it is. In the meantime, they also have blackberries to pick.
"Signed words" Spoken words
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
While a fruit picking trial was, in fact, necessary for survival (No one wanted to go hungry through the cold seasons, or to have too little fruit to fend off scurvy) it was also something of a treat and a holiday. A fun day out, together, without quite such physical work as digging ditches or working a ram on one of the buildings, or any of the other exhausting, heavy labour tasks that were essential to getting Rosebay set up.
The previous evening, Agnes had used the spare heat and space in the ovens to cook a stack of turnip pasties alongside the evening meal. That meant that now they could carry their pasties with them and stay out at the fruit patch all trial.
Dan made sure that everyone filled their waterskin and carried a sling and a pouch of stones alongside their eating knife. They had all had some basic with the slings, although they weren't particularly good with them as yet. Still, some skill was better than none, and if they go into the habit of carry their sling whenever they left the main site (which had its own protections from wild animals and bandits) then that was a bonus. He also marked their intended destination on the board set up for that purpose, so that anyone looking for them would know where they went.
Joy and survival had always been intertwined for Dan, so much so that he had never really considered that they might be separate. His joys had always been quiet ones though - the pleasure of a good meal, the awe of a gorgeous sunset, the satisfaction of completing what he set out to do, or the quiet contentment at the end of the trial when he could relax with a mug of something cradled in his hands.
Once everyone was ready, Dan led them to the place he had found during his survey where grapes and blackberries grew. Gathering baskets swung from various hands as they walked. The rain was gone, the sun was shining, and all in all, it was a perfect trial for gathering food, especially fruit.
The pattern of the land had shifted where all the Saun rain had turned the bare dry ground to mud and the mud had slid or slipped or shifted, so Dan navigated mostly by the sun. The fruit patch was still where he had thought it was though, and the fruit smelled sweet and ripe.
"Grapes first," he decided. "Blackberries later." Grapes preserved better and easier than blackberries did. Grapes, after all, could be dried into raisins, which were easily portable in any pocket or bag. Blackberries had to be boiled down into a syrup, and that was far more awkward to transport, seeing as the jars or other containers needed to be protected during travel, lest sticky syrup spill over everything. "Don't pick the individual grapes," he went on, "find the top of the bunch and cut through or break off the stem there, then put the whole bunch in the basket." He demonstrated by finding a small bunch, tracing a light finger up it to the stem (lifting a few leaves out of his way as he went) and then cutting it free with his knife. The bunch rested in his hand for a moment, crimson globes glowing sullenly like blood under the sun, and then he laid it in the basket. They weren't quite evenly ripe the way they would have been in a well-tended vineyard, such as legend said had once been here, but that was only to be expected. They hadn't been tended by anything except sun and rain and wind and their own deep rooted stubborn survival.
He waved the rest of the settlers to come and do the same. They eagerly joined him, clustering around the vine like one of the bunches of grapes that they were harvesting. Elbows collided with arms and ribs, hips bumped against hips. Some of the settlers stood on tiptoe or boosted themselves up on the half-tumbled wall to get to the highest bunches, others stooped to get at the lower vines.
Dan tried not to flinch under the jostling, but there wasn't really the space to spread out. At some point, if all went well, maybe Rosebay could bring back the vineyards that once stood here. If that happened, he thought, he might want to grow them wider and more evenly. And more of them, of course, as many as they had water for. What they had here was a steady, reliable source - grape vines being a perennial plant, they could pick grapes from it every arc - but if there were vines being grown deliberately, they would be more accessible. That was something to consider for another time, it being completely the wrong season to plant new vines.
He eased back from the main crush, checking on the baskets instead and making sure that some were left empty for now, so that they could hold the blackberries later.
It was easier with a little more space - for him at least. He could breathe, he could move enough to Sign, he wasn't trapped in a space he couldn't escape, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Judging by the burble of laughter and cheerful voices though, the other settlers didn't feel the same, only him.
Dan took a slow breath, let it gently out again, swallowed down the ache in his gut that reminded him why he had preferred to live alone for so long. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't even his own fault - he hadn't asked to be different from the assumed normal of things, the one considered weird and other and strange, the outlier that no one could be bothered to consider, the one expected to crush himself into the box of 'normal' just to be tolerated let alone accepted. He just was, and that was all there was to it. You didn't blame the clouds for being different to the preferred blue sky, you didn't blame a horse for being grey rather than brown. That was the way they were, too.
He lifted his head as one of the settlers glanced back at him and managed a honest smile, passing the baskets along to where they were needed.
By the time that all the grapes had been picked, it was time for the noon meal. Dan led the settlers a little way from the half-fallen wall where the grapes grew, and the bramble patch beside it, to a nearby area of bare ground. There, where there was nothing to worry about stinging or scratching, he gestured for them to find seats.
He scooped a shallow hollow in the dirt, lined it with a square of clean, waterproofed canvas, and poured perhaps a cupful of water into the hollow, making an improvised basin for people to wash their hands in. That done, everyone scattered into little clumps and clusters of interest and friendship, settled themselves on the ground, and dug out their pasties.
Dan settled slightly off to the side of most of them, unwilling to intrude on their enjoyment, and rummaged for his own pasty. He rested his waterskin against his knee and alternated bites of turnip pasty with mouthfuls of lukewarm water. The pasty was as good cold as it would have been hot, competently made and seasoned. He filled his belly in quick, neat, bites, efficiently devouring every crumb in as little time as possible, as he had learned to do in the orphanage when eating around others. Dragging the meal out in any way had just led to him losing parts of his meals to other, faster, eaters. Maybe it wasn't as necessary now, but old habits died very hard and survival was the oldest habit of all. He licked pastry crumbs off his fingers and washed them down with a final mouthful of water, then looked around.
He wasn't, quite, the fastest eater. Dust quarter children learned to eat quickly, without wasting so much as a crumb, too. He considered for a moment, then picked himself off the ground and made his way over to the gathering baskets. There, he eyed up the clumps, counting grapes in his head, and finally picked out a cluster. He plucked them one by one from the stem and passed them round so that everyone could have a taste of their harvest.
The one he got, wasn't quite fully ripe - it must have been on the shaded side of the cluster - so there is a tart edge to the sweetness. He sucks the last of the pulp off the seed and tucks the seed itself carefully away in a pocket. It might not be the right season to plant grapes now, but he can save the seeds for when it is. In the meantime, they also have blackberries to pick.
"Signed words" Spoken words
