Ascendance of a Bookworm-Chapter 10 - Preparing for Winter
Chapter 10: Preparing for Winter
I had originally planned to start working on turning the grass stalks that the other kids had gathered for me into my pseudo-papyrus, but it seems like fate had other plans for me.
βMaine,β says my mother, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck as I try to slip out the door.
βEep?!β I squeak, startled. fππeπ¬πππ―૦π·ππ.cππ¦
βWhere do you think youβre going? I told you, today we have to start preparing for the winter, right?β
I was trying to go down to the well so that I could start working on extracting the plant fibers from these stalks.
Soon, weβll all be stuck indoors as the long winter creeps in, so weβll have to make preparations in advance. Why, though, am I being pressed into service? Iβm so weak that Iβm not good for anything! According to Maineβs memories, all she ever did was catch a cold, then spend all that time uselessly wandering around. In other words, Iβm completely useless. (Iβm hoping I donβt actually catch a cold, though.)
βYouβll go help your father, Maine. Come,β she says.
βDoesnβt Daddy have work?β
βItβs his turn to take a few days off. It wouldnβt be good if the soldiers couldnβt prepare for winter, you know?β
β¦Giving employees time off to go prepare for winter is an unexpectedly reasonable thing for an employer to do. On top of that, is preparing for the winter really so hard that it requires a manβs help?
Regardless, even if my father is home, itβs unusual for me to be paired up with him. Heβs a muscle-headed soldier, after all, so itβs usually the much more fit and energetic Tory that winds up going with him.
Since the entire familyβs home, I donβt think Iβll be able to escape. And, since it seems like my fatherβs specifically nominated me, Iβve got no choice but to follow him.
ββ¦So what are we going to do?β I ask.
Next to the kitchen window, my father is pulling out some things that look like tools.
βWeβre going to go through the house and do a little maintenance on anything that needs it. The doorβs whatβs going to protect us from a big snowstorm, so we need to make sure the hinges are tight, thereβs no rust, and there arenβt any holes in the wood. When weβre done with that, weβre going to clean out the chimney and the flue for the stove. We donβt want to have any problems with those during the winter.β
βHuhhhβ¦β
I understand what needs to be done, but how the hell am I supposed to help with any of that? I can barely hold a screwdriver, much less turn it. I canβt carry anything heavy, either! You can see these skinny little arms right?!
However, if Iβm enthusiastic about doing whatever little bit I can to help out, itβll go a long way to helping build up my familyβs confidence in me. I can definitely help identify the loose parts on the hinges, and my modern-age knowledge will make spotting rust a piece of cake.
βDaddy, on this hinge, isnβt this nail getting rusty?β I say, pointing at a nail.
My father bends down to study it. ββ¦Looks like itβll hold for now.β
Uh, wait, no matter how you look at it, a worn-out nail like this is going to rust away, right?
Iβm immediately worried by how confidently my father said that. Once winter hits, this doorβs our main defense against a snowstorm, so it breaking down halfway through would be very bad for us. I climb up on a chair so I can reach the door, and try to rattle it back and forth. No matter how confident my father may be, if Iβm able to break it like this, then surely heβd recognize my superior judgement.
After I wiggle the door a few times, the top hinge pops off with a sharp ping, and the door starts to precariously sway on its one remaining hinge. I nod in satisfaction, but my fatherβs face goes ghastly white as he sees the door wobble.
βM- Maine?!β
βLooook, it broke!β I say, pointing at the door. βIt wasnβt going to last the winter. Make sure you fix it, Daddy!β
My father, pretending to ignore his judgement error, helps me down off the chair. βMaybe you should go help your mother now.β
Perhaps heβs upset that his daughter pointed out his mistake? I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head. It canβt be helped, Iβm not going anywhere. My mother specifically assigned me to help my father, so Iβm going to stay next to him and continue my inspections. Iβm going to make sure that we make it safely and comfortably through the winter.
βHuh?β I say. βIβve got to make sure youβve found everything! Weβre fixing things so they donβt break in the winter, so we shouldnβt leave things all beat up like that.β
βWe canβt afford to fix everything, and I canβt have you around breaking everything you can. Go see your mother.β
β¦Money problems, again!
I thought Iβd be able to make my father take things a little more seriously by breaking the hinge. Instead, Iβm having to quietly make my way to the bedroom to go help Tory and my mother.
The two of them are hanging shirts and blankets from clotheslines, as if they were trying to dry them, and rearranging the beds to be closer to the kitchen stove, trying to make the place just a little bit warmer.
βWhatβs wrong, Maine?β
βDaddy said that I should come help you instead, Mommy.β
βOh? Well, weβre almost done with this, so next weβre going to work on getting some more light in here. We should have some beeswax this year. Weβve also got some tallow and some tree nuts, so weβll spend some time squeezing some oil for the lamp and making a few candles.β
Just hearing about the work makes me wrinkle my nose. Iβve been smelling the stench of animal fats coming from various other houses lately, but the thought of filling our own kitchen with that stink makes me feel really uneasy.
Tory heads off to the storage room to start pressing oil out of the nuts. I, however, donβt have enough strength to swing a hammer, so I canβt seek shelter in the storage room with her.
Next to my mother, our largest saucepan sits over the fire, filled with nothing but beef tallow.
It stinks!! Hang in there, meβ¦
I might be able to bear this stench for now, but it looks like the total extent of my motherβs preparation is only just melting the tallow alone and skimming off the impurities that rise to the top.
βWait, Mommy, is that really all youβre doing? Youβre not going to βsalt it outβ?β
βHmm? What was that?β
Oh, crap. βSalting outβ is so extremely obvious, but it looks like she doesnβt know about it.
I try not to flinch as my motherβs stare drills into me, as if sheβs asking me if I really have a problem. As best as I can, I try to explain the process using only simple words.
βItβs, umβ¦ where you add salt water, then you cook it over the fire a little more, and then you strain out the dirt multiple times?β
βSalt water?β she asks.
βYeah. When you leave it alone and it cools down, only the fat on top will harden, and the water on the bottom will stay liquid, you know? Then, you can take out the water, and only use the fat that was on top. Itβs more work, but it will smell a lot better, and itβll be a higher quality fat, too.β
I donβt know if itβs because I said βhigher qualityβ or not, but my mother starts salting out the tallow. The quality of the candles that weβre going to be burning throughout the entire winter is literally a life-or-death matter for me. Weβre going to be trapped indoors with it, after all. Living in a house filled with that kind of stench for the whole winter would be far too much for me to bear.
I donβt actually know the right concentration of salt we should be using, but even just a little should make things better, right?
I guessed on the concentration, but as we salted out the tallow, it gradually started turning from a dirty yellow to a pure white. Weβll be able to use this to make candles, and then when spring comes around and we need to make soap, we can melt the candles again and re-use the tallow.
Not one to waste anything, my mother uses the chunks of meat and bone that we filtered out of the tallow to make a delicious soup stock, which we have for lunch. After that, we start making the candles.
βNow then,β says my mother. βTory, please work on the candles. Your father and I will go and start working on the firewood.β
βOkaay!β says Tory, cheerfully.
β¦Uh, what am I supposed to do, then?
The three of them stand up and get to work. I think about it for a little while, then decide to follow along behind my mother, whoβs about to step out the front door. I guess Iβm going to continue trying to help her out. She notices me, however, and points firmly back towards the kitchen table.
βMaine, go help Tory with the candles. Try not to get in the way.β
ββ¦Fine.β
Why do you have so little trust in me?
I turn back to the kitchen, where Tory is cutting string into lots of equal lengths to use as wicks. She ties them to wooden sticks, letting them dangle. She takes each stick and starts to dip the strings into and out of the pot of tallow, one by one. As she dips them over and over, tallow starts to soak into and harden around each string, gradually building in circumference with each repetition. Slowly, candles start to take shape.
βHuh, so is that how you make candlesβ¦β I muse.
βMaine, donβt just watch, help me!β says Tory, scowling.
Toryβs starting to get mad, so I decide to help out. I chop up some herbs to erase the scent, then take some candles from the pile so that I can start rolling them in the herbs. Theyβll have some effect when theyβre stuck to the outside of the candle, but next year, Iβm going to make sure that these herbs get mixed in to the tallow as it melts.
βMaine! Donβt play around!β says Tory.
ββ¦Iβm only going to use these ones. Itβs better to have candles that arenβt smelly, right? Please, Tory!β
βOkay, fine, but only those ones!β
I nod vigorously to show that Toryβs made herself clear.
I donβt know if this will work or not, so I wasnβt planning on doing this to every candle anyway. I get the herbs attached to five of the candles, varying the amount and positioning so that I can try to figure out what will produce the best result.
While Tory and I keep working like that on the candles, our parents work on preparing enough firewood. Thereβs so much careful preparation that goes into preparing for the winter, but itβs necessary if we donβt want to freeze to death. To supplement the kindling that Tory brought back, my fatherβs brought back a huge number of logs, each half a meter long, that he went out and purchased. Heβs currently splitting them into firewood, his hatchet beating out a steady rhythm as he works. My mother collects the wood as it splits apart, then carries it to another room to stack it up for later.
βMommy, where are you taking that?β I ask, startled, as she opens a door to a room Iβd never seen before. This is the first time Iβve noticed it, but attached to the storage room is what seems to be an additional storage room. It looks like it might not be used for anything but storing materials that were prepared for the winter. Already, the room is half-filled with chopped wood.
βHuh?β I ask, following her in. βWhatβs this room for?β
βItβsβ¦ the winter storage room, you know?β she says. βMaine, why are you asking about this now?β
Come to think of it, I had been wondering where the heck all of the firewood that Tory had brought back was being stored, but it looks like itβs being kept in here. We typically keep the firewood we use on a day-to-day basis in the storage room, so I guess I just never noticed the other room.
ββ¦Itβs cold.β
βWell, this is the farthest place in the house from the stove, after all.β
Our house doesnβt have a dedicated living room with a beautiful fireplace, so the kitchen stove is the only real source of heat in the entire house. We spend most of every day in the kitchen, as a result.
Also, since the bedroom is separated from the kitchen (and the stove) by a wall, weβve pushed all of the beds in the room up against the closest wall. While the stove burns, the heat radiates through the wall, so when itβs time for the children to go to bed the beds are quite warm. Theyβre only warm right when we go to bed, however. Our mother quenches the fire before she goes to bed, so the room is piercingly cold by the time we wake up.
This winter storage room, however, is the furthest room away from the stove, so itβs very cold in here. During the winter, this room looks like it would be great for storing food, preserves, and maybe even oil for a while, kind of like a natural refrigerator.
βWow, we have a lot of wood,β I say, amazed.
βWe might just barely have enough, donβt you think?β
Even though the roomβs half-full?!
Looking at the pile of firewood before me, I suddenly start thinking about the problem of deforestation. If a single house burns this much firewood over the course of the winter, how much wood does this entire city go through in a single year? πreπ¦ππ²π£π―π°Ξ½β―π.cπΌο½
βMaine, donβt space out,β says my mother. βMake sure youβre ready for your handiwork.β
Iβm not spacing out!! Deforestation is a serious problem that merits significant thought!
Even as I try to object, my motherβs already heading back out towards the kitchen. I hurry after her. I really donβt want to be in that gloomy, window-less room by myself.
βMommy, whatβs handiwork?β
βHmmβ¦ well, the men might do things like repairing the tools they use for their jobs, or maybe use the time to make furniture. We need to make sure we have enough materials ready for that.β
βOh, itβs the jobs we do during the winter?β
As Iβm asking my questions, my mother is counting out how many balls of yarn she has. βThatβs right. As for women, making clothes is our most important job, you know? If we donβt spin enough thread for weaving cloth or sewing, and if we donβt dye things in advance, we wonβt be able to make anything. My job is dyeing thread, so I already have enough of that for now, but Iβll need to spend some time preparing some plants, like nilen, to spin into more thread next year.β
βOhhβ¦β
βOn top of that, your sisterβs baptism is next summer! Weβre going to need brand new clothing for that, since itβs a special dayβ¦ Hm, and Iβm going to need to make that this winter, while I have timeβ¦β
My motherβs face goes fierce as she concentrates, calculating whether or not sheβll have enough materials for the task. I donβt want to interrupt her at all, so I quietly migrate downstairs to the well, where Tory is working.
βTory, what are you doing for your handiwork?β
βIβm making baskets! Iβll sell them in the spring.β
Toryβs already started preparing the materials sheβll need for her work. Sheβs brought down a bundle of sticks that sheβd gathered in the forest, soaked them, and peeled the bark off. Now, it looks like sheβs using a knife to shave them down, parallel to the grain.
βMaine, what will you do?β she asks.
βMe? Iβm going to make some 'pseudo-papyrusβ.β
βWhatβs that?β
βEheheh, itβs a seeeecret!β
Following Toryβs example in getting a head start on my winterβs work, Iβll start separating the fibers Iβll need to make my pseudo-papyrus. This is an extremely important part of my preparation! This is a necessary task that nobody could possibly get mad at me about.
To extract the fibers, I can probably do something similar to what Toryβs doing. Iβll strip the skin off of the grass stalks, soak them in water, and then dry them. Since thereβs not very much time left to finish our preparations, I wasnβt able to get a whole lot of grass. Now, though, I can finally start working on separating out these plant fibers.
βHey, Tory,β I say, βcan I get some water?β
ββ¦Sure.β
βHey, Tory,β I say, βhow do you think I should take just the fibers out of this?β
βHuh? Ummmmβ¦β
βHey, Tory,β I say, βthese wonβt fly away if I dry them like this, right?β
ββ¦β¦β
I bundle up the plant fibers that Iβve managed to extract. There arenβt a whole lot of them, but for the purposes of my experiments I should be able to make maybe one or two pages with this amount.
And, so, I conclude my final preparations for the coming winter. Whoof, man, I worked hard!
Huh? Whyβs Tory looking so exasperated?