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@@ -6,6 +6,8 @@ Great Lakes Book the midwest as the old milkwaukee sense, but then the spanish influence. the southerners coming up, cultural collision. the native tribes still there, still remaining seperate. unbroken lineage for them, they are the keepers of the long history, they will not tell it to just anyone. there is no widespread literacy anymore. no need. +Trees with strong rot resistance: white oak, ship mast locust/black locust, Larch Tamarack + ### The Farmer her great grandaughter: We meet her as she comes out of a lawyer's office in Milwaukee, the cold spring wind is blowing down the street. The lake is still frozen, icy clouds billow in the wind. The snow on the ground is patchy though. She drives out to his land is walking among the young trees and fields cleared for hemp. Oak trees and pigs, he's a pig farmer. Regenerative ag. His farm is growing trees for an ark his descendants will build. Long view. Re-incarnation view. @@ -149,13 +151,13 @@ This is how another war starts, the final war in which the cities are burned out # boat intro -A soft breeze woke Iza in her berth. She'd left the portal above her open when she went to bed because it was stuffy and the wind and rain never came from the north anyway. Wait, she sat up suddenly. The breeze was coming in the portal. The breeze was from the North. The north. "Karrin," she yelled. "Tell Papa the wind has shifted." There was no response. "Karrin," she yelled again. There was still no response. She much have gone ahore Iza realized. Damn. She grabbed a shirt from the locker above her head and rolled out of bed. She put on the shirt as she climbed up the companionway. +A soft breeze woke Iza in her berth. She'd left the portal above her open when she went to bed because it was stuffy and the wind and rain never came from the north anyway. Wait, she sat up suddenly. The breeze was coming in the portal. The breeze was from the North. The north. "Karrin," she yelled. "Tell Papa the wind has shifted." There was no response. "Karrin," she yelled again. There was still no response. Must have gone ashore Iza thought. Damn. She grabbed a shirt from the locker above her head and rolled out of her hammock. She put on the shirt as she climbed up the companionway. -She went to the stern hatch that led to her father's room, the captains quarters as he liked to call it. "Papa. Wind comin' fr'up noth." She laughed imitating the old accent. +She went to the stern hatch above her father's room, the captain's quarters, as he liked to call it. "Papa. Wind comin' fr'up noth." She laughed imitating the old accent. -The old man was on deck in a beat, vaulting up the stairs and out of the hold with lightness that belied his age. He had no hair, but for some stubble around the back of his head. His skin was a deep brown, whether by nature or by sun was unclear since his daughters had never known him to be out of the sun. He was of medium height, but had a boxer's lithe build and a sprightly manner of walking that came from years striding ships wood decks. "Noth eh?" +The old man was on deck in a beat, vaulting up the stairs and out of the hold with a lightness that belied his age. He had no hair, but for some stubble around the back of his head. His skin was a deep brown, whether by nature or by sun was unclear since his daughters had never known him to be out of the sun. He was of medium height, but had a boxer's lithe build and a sprightly manner of walking that came from years striding the uneven, pitching wood decks of ships. "Noth eh?" -She smiled at him. He didn't just imitate the old speech, he had grown up in it. While it had faded, certain words still brought it out. He glanced up at the tethers atop the mast. They fluttered lightly, but unmistakably to the south. The wind was indeed out of the north. "Well then. Nearly time to head down." He glanced at his daughter, then over at the rocky, pine and oak covered shore. "You think there's any blueberries left up in that clearing?" +She smiled at him. He didn't imitate the old speech, he had grown up in it. While it had faded, certain words still brought it out. He glanced up at the tethers atop the mast. They fluttered lightly, but unmistakably to the south. The wind was indeed out of the north. "Well then. Nearly time to head back down." He glanced at his daughter, then over at the rocky, pine and oak covered shore. "You think there's any blueberries left up in the clearing?" She nodded. @@ -163,31 +165,48 @@ He stretched his arms and swayed about the waist, half yawning, half stretching. "Had some fish." -"Fish? What you eaten fish for up here?" He laughed. 'Couldn't force a fish down my throat when I'm up here. But you do what you want." He turned back toward the companionway. "I'm going to carve up a slice of something and then we'll head in get some blueberries so we can start some mead for the ceremonies." +"Fish? What you eaten fish for up here?" He laughed. 'Couldn't force a fish down my throat when I'm up here. But you do what you want." He turned back toward the companionway. "I'm going to carve up a slice of something and then we'll head in get some blueberries so we can start some mead for the ceremonies. Oh, grab your bow though, we'll see about another boar too." --- -She stepped lightly, silently through the shadows and the forest. She knew her father was several paces to her right, but through the play of shadow and light in the rustling of the leaves. The wind was strong enough to rattle the birch leaves, the pines that towered over the edge of the glade she moved through cast deeper shadows to the left. The noise of the leaves was enough to cover any missteps, but she had her pride to contend with. She put her feet down slowly, feeling the contour of leaves and twigs before putting her full weight down. She shifted her foot to avoid what felt like a dry maple leaf, only the find she had brought her weight down on a tough, dry strip of birch bark that dug deep into the soft middle of her foot. She winced but did not let the bowstring slack. +She stepped lightly, silently through the shadows and the forest. She knew her father was several paces to her right, but through the play of shadow and light in the rustling of the leaves she could not see or hear him. The wind was strong enough to rattle the birch leaves. The noise of the leaves was enough to cover any missteps, but she had her pride to contend with. She put her feet down slowly, feeling the contour of leaves and twigs before putting her full weight down. She shifted her foot to avoid what felt like a dry maple leaf, only the find she had brought her weight down on a tough, dry strip of birch bark that dug deep into the soft middle of her foot. She winced but did not let the bowstring slack. + +Overhead towered huge white pines that ran around the edge of the birch glade she moved through. They cast deep shadows to the left. It was getting toward evening. Soon the mosquitoes would make the wood unbearable, but for now the wind held, the bugs stayed away. Four paces in front of her the birch abruptly stopped. There was a clearing, made by her father several years before. In it they'd been mounding acorn and sour mash left over from making blueberry wine. Beneath that they'd buried birchbark-cased caches of the same. Boar, according to her father, love to dig for food. The first day they eat the easy food, but what they really like is the buried food, they like to work for it. Like you, Iza replied. Her father smiled at her, yeah, I suppose a little like me. + +The trick was shooting them. Despite being her father's daughter, Iza had never put an arrow in anything larger than a beaver. She was a fair shot at a waddling beaver, but a snorting snarling pig with six inch tusks on either side of its sizable teeth was another matter entirely. She was terrified of boar. She'd have rather hunted wolves or grizzlies. But her father insisted that his contribution to the Lughnas be boar. Specifically boar rendered in its own fat in the traditional way. And she here she stood, creeping up on a clearing where an animal ten times her weight and twice her size was busy rooting around in folded birch bark containers they'd buried two days ago. What happened to gathering blueberries, she thought to herself. + +She brought her arm up, ready to shoot as she inched up to and then relaxed against the last birch tree. She glanced around quickly, trying to find something climbable if the hunt took a turn for the worse, as her father had put it. She reasoned she could probably vault herself into the limbs of a fir three paces behind her if worst came to worst. She brought her mind back to the task and hand. She took a deep breathe, closed her eyes, and slowing and silently exhaled. When she opened her eye again she saw the boar, its head down, rooting a mixture of dug soil, roots, and the remnants of their birch bark container that had been full of acorns. She looked to the side of it, so as not to stare. Animals did not like to be stared at. They could feel your stare. The boar's neck was too low to shoot at though. She brought her bow up slightly, just above and forward of where she guessed the shoulder bone would be. Then her father's imitation of a scolding Chickadee rang out and the boar suddenly lifted its head. Before she realized she'd done it, the arrow was gone and she was pulling another out of her quiver without taking her eyes from the boar, but boar had already slumped on its side, her arrow was deep in its flesh, just back of the shoulder and a second had gone straight into its throat. She saw her father move out into the open now and put two more arrows into it. + +"Iza!" + +She ran over and he grabbed her in a bear hug. "That one was you. Look! That is your arrow, went right through to the heart. Amazing shot." -Four paces ahead the birch abruptly stopped. There was a clearing, made by her father several years ago. In it they'd been mounding acorn and sour mash, on top of buried caches of the same. Boar, according to her father, love to dig for their food. The first day they eat the easy food, but what they really like is the buried food, they like to work for it. Like you Iza said. Her father smiled at her, yeah, I suppose a little like me. +"Lucky papa. I was too scared to be anything more than lucky." -The trick was shooting them. Despite being her father's daughter, Iza had never put an arrow in anything larger than a beaver. She was a fair shot at waddling beaver, but a snorting snarling pig with six inch tusks on either side of it's sizable teeth was another matter entirely. She was terrified of boar. She'd have rather hunted wolves or grizzlies. But her father insisted that his contribution to the Lughnas be boar. Specifically boar rendered in its own fat in the traditional way. And she here she stood, creeping up on a clearing where an animal ten times her weight and twice her size was busy rooting around in folded birch bark containers they'd buried two days ago. What happened to gathering blueberries, she thought to herself. +"There is no such thing as luck Iza. Take credit for the skills your training has built." -She brought her arm up, ready to shoot as she inched up to and then relaxed against the birch. She glances around quickly, trying to find something climbable if the hunt took a turn for the worse, as her father had put it. She reasoned she could probably vault herself into the limbs of a fir if worst came to worst. She brought her mind back to the task and hand. +She smiled. "Okay Papa, maybe it was a pretty good shot. I don't know. I don't remember letting the arrow fly." -The boar had its head down, rooting a mixture of dug soil, roots, and the remnants of their birch bark container that had been full of acorns. She looked to the side of it, so as not to stare. Animals did not like to be stared at. They could feel your stare. The boar's neck was too low to shoot at though. Then her father's imitation of a scholing Chickadee rang out and boat suddenly lifted it's head. Before she realized she'd done it, the arrow was gone and she was pulling another out of her quiver without taking her eyes from the boar, but boar had already slumped on its side, her arrow was deep in its shoulder and a second had gone straight into its throat. She saw her father move out into the open now and put two more arrows into it. +"That is good," said her father excitedly, "that is very, very good. You are hunting then. That is good. Excellent." He rubbed his hands together and turned around, still muttering to himself, or perhaps to her, she wasn't sure, but she could no longer understand him until he said, "you shoot like a huge warrior hunter, but alas, you are not very big." He scratched at the stubble on the back of his had. "How are we going to move this beast Iza?" He glanced around. "I don't want to clean it here, this bait circle might still be good. We will have to travois the body out of here and back to the shore. We can butcher it there. He moved to the opposite edge of the clearing and began to hack at two birch saplings with the small hatchet he carried on his belt. It took a minute but he soon had then cut and stripped into poles. He cut two of equal length and one shorter pole and fashioned them into a triangle. He tied them off with long strips of birchbark and then reinforced it with a strip of hide he quickly cut off the boar. He sized up the animal and then added several more cross braces. When he had it secure he and Iza heaved the boar on its side, laid the travois down beside it and then rolled the boar back over it so it lay on the travois. Her father picked up the two triangle points at the front and with Iza pushing the rear they managed to sled the boar about twenty feet before they both gave out. The boar was out of the clearing, but still nearly half a mile from the shore. They rested and then made another push. This time they made it a little further since there was less undergrown here back in the glade. he rested, drank water from a bladder her father had slung of his back and they set off again. Moving and resting in the manner they eventually made it back to the shoreline where Iza helped her father skin the boar and washed the meat in the lake as he cut out organs and butchered the animal into portions they could pack in the barrels waiting in the ships hold. -Iza! +Karrin rowed in to help them, brings a sack of salt and barrel with her. The spent the better part of the evening cutting meat and packing. Her father lit a fire and used his cast iron grill to roast up the liver, which they sliced thin and ate half cooked. The heart they set aside, along with a length of intestine that Iza was to process into casings. Have fun with that her sister remarked when their father told Iza to take the intestine down to the water and flush it. Karrin did not like butchering. She was willing to help pack meat in salt, but she stayed away from the actual cutting a scraping. For some reason her father tolerated this, which always irritated Iza. Iza ignored the remark and stepped past her sister out in the water, the long trail of intestine floating behind her. She used a bellows to clean out the partly digested pig food. She then deftly pulled the intestine inside out and brought it back ashore where she began scrapping out the membrane. She was still working on it an hour later when they took a break for dinner. To get away from the flies and the smell they loaded the barrel on the rowboat and took it back the boat, sealing it and placing it below deck, and then eating at the folding wooden table on deck. Her father poured mead and they listened to him telling stories about the old days when he first went wandering in the wood. When the only people in the woods were the Ojibwe. Sickness had wiped out the Merigians that once lived in these woods, most of whom were diggers, her father mutter. Weird bunch of things they left behind. I've stood in their houses, up on the north shore, up past Miskominikaani, there's a steep hill covered in hemlock and beech now, but there are piles of stones those people made. They could make their own stone. Not like fired clay bricks like they use in the south. this is hard like stone. Not as strong though. But they fashioned it into bricks and made huge buildings. One I was in, it had steel girders bigger than me stretched across it. A roof is what the Ojibwe told me it was. Huge buildings. The Objibwe say the Merigians would store huge amount of food in these buildings and then come and get some when they needed it." Her father paused to throw a handful of blueberries in his mouth. "Can you imagine that? Why would you do that? I couldn't figure it out. The Ojibwe told me that the Merigians didn't hunt any more, that there were so many of them there wasn't enough game. That they had to raise animals themselves, like we do chickens." -She ran over and he grabbed her in a bear hug. That one was you. Look! that is your arrow, went right through to the heart. Amazing shot. +"Papa we don't raise chickens" -Lucky papa. I was too scared to be anything more than lucky. +"Okay, we don't, but many people do. We could. Not on the boat though. No animals on the boat. No living animals." He ate some more blueberries. "What a strange thing, so many people that there is no game." He sighed. "What a terrible thing." -There is no such thing as luck Iza. Take credit for the skills your training has built. +"I think that's still true over in tk New York country" said Karrin. -She smiled. Okay Papa, maybe it was. I don't know. I don't remember letting the arrow fly. +Her father raised an eyebrow at her. "Where'd you hear that?" + +Karrin blushed. Iza noticed and glanced at her father. If he noticed he didn't let on. All she said was, "I don't recall, somewhere in town I imagine." + +Iza knew where she'd heard it. She'd heard it from the sailors she was always sneaking off to see. Iza had followed her once and seen Karrin and her friends laughing and talking on the pier with some of the sailors off one of the big three masted ships that called at Ashland to bring goods from the eastern shores and take back timber and goods. Karrin wasn't supposed to go with the ; + + +--- -That is good said her father excitedly, that is excellant. You are hunting then. That is good. Very good. her rubbed his hands together and turned around, still muttering to himself, or perhaps to her, she wasn't sure, but she could no longer understand him until he said, 'You shoot like a huge warrior hunter, but alas, you are not very big." He scratched at the stubble on the back of his had. "How are we going to move this beast Iza? I don't want to clean it here, this bait circle might still be good. We will have to travois the body out of here and back to the shore. We can butcher it there. He moved to the opposite edge of the clearing and began to hack at two birch saplings with the small hatchet he carried on his belt. It took a minute but he soon had then cut and stripped into poles. +Gathering seabuckthorn, processing by beating it off the stems in sacks and then pouring in in front of a pedal powered fan. --- |