Once back at the farm, Randall immediately got to work preparing the ground for the new seeds he’d purchased. He’d already cleared out the weeds over the previous days, so he used the hoe to form a V-shaped groove down three of the rows.
He planted the strawberries in the same ground they’d occupied before. He figured if the first crop had grown so big there, the same should hold true for a replanting. The next row he planted with cauliflower, and the cucumbers went in the row past that. Finally, he watered the three rows with the new seeds.
With nothing else to plant, and none of the crops looking like they would be ready anytime soon, he decided there was no need to clear more of the garden. He went off in search of other things to do, and it wasn’t long before he noticed how dilapidated portions of the fence looked.
Split rail fencing surrounded the farm and partitioned fields from each other. Many of the posts and rails that made up the fence were the dull gray color wood took on as it aged and began to dry rot. Some of the posts had split down the middle, dropping the connecting pieces on the ground.
In the barn, Randall found a woodcutters ax and a hand saw. He filled a canning jar with water, sealed it, and proceeded into the forested hills on the west side of the property.
The nearer trees were saplings, most not even tall enough to make one rail, so he walked deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller and wider the farther in he went. In several places, he found the rotting stumps of trees that had been cut down in years past. He set the water jar and saw on one of these when he found some tall, straight trees that looked like they would make good rails.
He needed a few swings with the ax to get a feel for it. He aimed for a spot about a foot above the ground and swung in a wide arc, chopping into the bark of the tree. The ax sank an inch into the wood and held fast. He had to brace one of his legs on the tree trunk and pull with all his might to dislodge it. The next swing struck a little above the previous one, sending a chip of wood flying into the air. This time the ax came away easily.
Alternating the ax motion from the top to the bottom, he cut a wedge into the side of the tree where he wanted it to fall. Over a couple minutes, he expanded the size of the hole, chopping until he was about halfway through the trunk of the tree. Then he did the same from the other side, leaving a thin strip still connected in the middle. Soon the tree began to wobble when he struck it, and he pushed at about chest height until the top of the tree started falling on its own. He jumped back to make sure he was out of the way, and the tree hit the ground with a thundering crash.
With the tree down, he proceeded to cut notches in the bark every five feet or so to mark where he should cut through in order to make posts. There was enough room for three posts before the tree narrowed to the point he figured it would only be good for making rails. Beyond that, he used the ax to remove branches that were sticking out, leaving only the long, straight trunk lying on the forest floor.
He switched the ax for the saw he’d brought with him and went back to the first notch he’d made. He slid some of the thicker branches he’d removed under the trunk to brace it then started sawing. The work was slow. He’d seen videos of chainsaws cutting through the trunks of trees like this in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, all he had was a hand saw that kept getting stuck if he shifted his hand a little so the blade wasn’t completely straight. It took him a half hour, and a couple breaks to catch his breath, before he finally cut through the bottom and could roll the log away.
By the time he finished sawing through the other two places he’d marked, the sun was sinking down towards the horizon. His throat was parched, so he sat down on the old stump and took a long drink from the jar of spring water he’d brought with him. The heaviest of the work was done, and he decided to strip the bark from the logs here. Then he could drag them down the hill to the farm and call it a day.
He used the ax to cut away the bark from the three posts and the longer section he planned to fashion into rails. He carried his tools back to the barn then returned to collect the logs one at a time. He laid them behind the barn, the muscles in his arms aching with all the swinging of the ax he’d done that day.
All he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, but he had to clean up his tools, or the tree sap would make them rust. The last thing he needed was for them to become more damaged and harder to use. So he spent another twenty minutes washing their blades and applying a bit of oil before returning them to their place over the workbench.
He shut up the barn and went into the house, sighing contentedly as he slid between the sheets on his bed.
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The next morning, Randall came out to water his crops in the garden and the flowers on the porch. By now, the cabbages and potatoes had begun to show greenery. The cabbages sprouted long, wide leaves in all directions, growing several layers higher with each day that passed. All of them appeared to be connected to one thick stem in the center.
The potatoes on the other hand employed a strategy of sheer volume. Thin stems extended up in multiple places around where each potato had been planted. They all sent leaves out, bunching up against each other, and seemingly trying to outgrow one another.
The new crops weren’t sprouting yet, since he’d only planted them the day before. He finished watering the garden and turned his attention to the flower pots on the porch.
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The daffodils had taken a different approach than any of the other plants he’d seen so far. They sent up clusters of long, thin leaves with one larger stem in the middle. Currently, several of the stems were starting to change color at the top while protective sheathes around them were withering away. He assumed they were almost ready to bloom.
After watering them, he remembered what Kate had said about singing to her own flowers. He glanced around to make sure nobody could be watching him. He didn’t see anyone climbing the hill for an unexpected visit and turned his attention to picking a song.
Some part of the logical thinking side of his brain wondered if this sort of thing had been studied. Which type of music would work best? He figured death metal or rap likely weren’t good choices, not that he could perform either, or most other genres of music once you got down to it. He assumed something with a nice melody would be the best choice.
When he finally thought of a song that seemed appropriate, he hummed a couple bars to refresh the lyrics in his memory. Feeling a little foolish, he began to sing.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”
He groaned at hearing how out of tune he was and stopped before going on to the next line. He was singing to inanimate objects, like some kind of Disney princess. The image of the flowers suddenly sprouting faces and singing along with him filled his mind, and he chuckled to himself.
“Sorry guys,” he said to the daffodils. “This just isn’t my thing. Would anyone like a discussion of best practices for adding password protection to a web site?”
The flowers didn’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Randall picked up the watering can to take it back to the barn. “You seem to be doing fine as it is. Hopefully it will be enough to win the competition.”
With his chores done in the garden, he turned his attention back to the logs he’d brought in from the forest the day before. He lifted one of the logs and carried it to the workbench inside the barn.
He’d already stripped the bark off, which meant he still needed to cut a couple notches for the rails to slide into and fashion a point at the bottom so he could drive it into the ground.
An array of smaller tools hung from a pegboard on the wall over the workbench. He took down a hand drill and the widest chisel he could find. First he cut a starter hole with the drill, then used the chisel to make the hole wider and deeper. He tapped the chisel with a mallet, sheering away flakes of wood from the inside of the log.
It took an hour for him to finish hollowing out the two holes for the rails to slide into. He clamped the log to the bench so a foot at the bottom of the post hung off the side of the workbench. Then he used a hatchet to sharpen the end into a point. He spent the rest of the morning fashioning the other two logs into fence posts.
By the time he finished the third one, his arms were sore from striking the chisel so many times, and he decided to take a break for lunch. He built up a fire in the stove and emptied the last of the vegetable soup into a pan to heat. He’d have to figure out some other meal with the soup having run out, but for now, he enjoyed the last bit along with the croissants from the cafe.
With his energy restored, he carried the rails through the fields to the section that had collapsed. Most of the cracked posts lifted out easily, but one snapped off at the base where it had rotted. He was forced to use his shovel to dig the hole wider before he could remove the rotten splinters that were left in the ground.
He seated the new posts in the holes left where he had removed the old ones and struck the tops with the square side of the ax to force them deeper into the ground. After several solid hits, he checked to see if a post was secure by grabbing the top and trying to push it to the side. The one in the spot where the previous post had cracked off took a lot more swings before it was deep enough to stand firm, then he filled in the hole with the soil he’d removed.
Using the hatchet, he split the rest of the tree in half lengthwise, giving him two long, thin pieces to fashion into rails. He laid them in the gaps between the posts and cut them to length. Then he cut bits off the end so they could slide into the notches in the posts. By the time the sky grew dark overhead, the section of broken fence had been replaced with fresh new wood.
After putting his tools away, he approached the front porch to find several of the daffodils had finally opened. The back portions of the flowers had spread out into wide star shapes, while the inner portion stuck out like a cone. The bulbs must have been a mixed set because the flowers were all different colors, including yellow, white, and orange.
“Hey,” Randall said when he saw them. “You must have liked my singing.”
As the sun slid below the horizon, the flowers began to close, as if they’d heard him and responded. He shook his head and walked into the house.
“Everybody’s a critic.”
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Skills
Crafting ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Gathering ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
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