Prosy: Harvest Day
Sep. 22nd, 2011 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: Harvest Day
Word count: 1020
Rating: G
Prompt:aldersprig's: Rampion and The neatest thing I figured out when we started growing our own herbs is WHY parsley and sage are Thanksgiving herbs - they're still alive, even in a good of snow.
Notes: I didn't call it Thanksgiving because this is the Wasteland, and while their culture is very much like ours it isn't exactly the same (hence the weird names). Apparently, rampion has an edible, turnip-like root. Who knew? This piece may or may not have more to it.
It was Harvest Day, and Vulai was determined to celebrate.
Even if the harvest didn’t happen at the same time anymore. Even if there was nothing to harvest. She still had a calendar, though it was one she’d made herself (the last mass-produced calendar she’d been able to find had been three years ago); she knew the date, whatever the weather was doing. Today, close to the end of November, when once the trees might have been brown and red and the skies grey but closed, was a holiday once beloved by the entire nation. Vulai, at least, still loved it.
Her husband was not so enthusiastic. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he asked as she pulled on a third sweater (all three handknit from yarn they’d traded the neighbors down the creek for) and reached for her mittens. “It’s eighty below out there. You’re going to freeze.”
“That’s what the layers are for,” she responded, unperturbed. “It’s only about five below. I’ll be fine.” They were both guessing; they had no thermometer, and neither had been outside yet. Not this time of year.
He followed her as she walked from their bedroom toward the kitchen and the back door. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to find out there? Nothing’s still growing. Nothing’s even alive.” They were speaking in harsh whispers, not wanting to wake the children, asleep in the next room where the hand-cranked generator should still be powering their space heater. Vulai and her husband used a wood stove, but it was too dangerous to leave the babies in a room with one of those.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find something,” she told him, pulling on her boots over her patched-up, once-waterproof pants and her two pairs of socks. “It’s not Harvest Day without something harvested that morning. Don’t you want the children to have a proper Harvest Day, like you had?”
He sighed and leaned against the wall, probably realizing that there was no way he was going to dissuade her from going out, but trying nonetheless. “They barely even know what Harvest Day is. Lusi certainly won’t know the difference—she probably won’t even be able to eat what you make. And she won’t remember this Harvest Day next year.”
Vulai smiled as she turned and rose clumsily on her tiptoes to kiss his nose. “Lusi will eat what I make, because I’m planning on mashed rampion. And even if she doesn’t consciously remember, it will still make her feel good.” She pulled her hat on, covering most of her face, and turned away before her husband could come up with another argument.
It was, indeed, incredibly cold outside, and had apparently started to snow again sometime during the night; flakes were still steadily coming down, flying about in the wind, and there were at least three more inches piled up from what she’d seen the night before. The sky was all grey with the winter storm. But Vulai could still see the tree line where their property ended, and she knew where the last place she’d seen something green was.
She bent her head and slogged through the snow. She winced after a few steps as the first hint of icy water seeped through her pants. When she got inside, though, she’d be able to dry off as long as she liked.
Finally reaching the nearest trees, she knelt in the snow and started pushing it away with her mittens. At least the trees blocked some of the wind.
The first spot she tried was nothing but brown, dried grass. She moved to the left and tried again. Dead things again; a few pine needles, which she stashed in her pocket, though they were a bit brown for tea. But the third spot was the charm.
Small plants, but green. Two different kinds. She plucked a sprig of each and brought them close to her nose so she could sniff. The familiar scents made her smile and close her eyes with pleasure. Parsley and sage. The perfect complements for a Harvest Day dinner.
Unable to keep a grin off her face, she hurried back to the house with the herbs tightly in her be-mittened hands. Her husband kindly opened the door for her, and she paused a moment after it was shut behind her, appreciating the warmth before starting to shed her layers.
He’d been silent the whole time, but when she was back in normal clothing, turned to her with questioning eyes. She held up the herbs. “You’ve never had a Harvest Day dinner without parsley and sage, have you? Now you don’t have to.”
He shook his head, smiling, and took her in his arms to kiss her softly on the forehead. “I should have known. You always get what you want, don’t you, love?”
“Always,” she responded, and lifted her head for a proper kiss. Then she looked over at the wood stove they kept in the kitchen. “You started the oat cakes.”
He shrugged, still with his arms around her. “I knew you’d be hungry when you came back, whether you found anything or not. And since you did find something, consider it an apology.”
She laughed. “I’ll take that apology. You finish, then, I’ll go get the kids.” He let her go to turn to the stove and set the oat cakes that were their usual breakfast these days on top to cook.
When she got to the kids’ room, Tarnik was already sitting up in bed, rubbing his nose and yawning. She sat gently on the edge of his tiny cot and kissed him on the head. “Feeling okay, sweetie?”
He nodded and rubbed his nose. “Sniffly.”
He didn’t have a fever, but maybe he had a cold. She hoped it wouldn’t be a bad one. This was an unpleasant time to start one. “Do you know what day it is?” He shook his head, looking up at her with big brown eyes, and she grinned playfully at him. “It’s Harvest Day. We get a special dinner.”
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Word count: 1020
Rating: G
Prompt:
aldersprig's: Rampion and The neatest thing I figured out when we started growing our own herbs is WHY parsley and sage are Thanksgiving herbs - they're still alive, even in a good of snow.Notes: I didn't call it Thanksgiving because this is the Wasteland, and while their culture is very much like ours it isn't exactly the same (hence the weird names). Apparently, rampion has an edible, turnip-like root. Who knew? This piece may or may not have more to it.
It was Harvest Day, and Vulai was determined to celebrate.
Even if the harvest didn’t happen at the same time anymore. Even if there was nothing to harvest. She still had a calendar, though it was one she’d made herself (the last mass-produced calendar she’d been able to find had been three years ago); she knew the date, whatever the weather was doing. Today, close to the end of November, when once the trees might have been brown and red and the skies grey but closed, was a holiday once beloved by the entire nation. Vulai, at least, still loved it.
Her husband was not so enthusiastic. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he asked as she pulled on a third sweater (all three handknit from yarn they’d traded the neighbors down the creek for) and reached for her mittens. “It’s eighty below out there. You’re going to freeze.”
“That’s what the layers are for,” she responded, unperturbed. “It’s only about five below. I’ll be fine.” They were both guessing; they had no thermometer, and neither had been outside yet. Not this time of year.
He followed her as she walked from their bedroom toward the kitchen and the back door. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to find out there? Nothing’s still growing. Nothing’s even alive.” They were speaking in harsh whispers, not wanting to wake the children, asleep in the next room where the hand-cranked generator should still be powering their space heater. Vulai and her husband used a wood stove, but it was too dangerous to leave the babies in a room with one of those.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find something,” she told him, pulling on her boots over her patched-up, once-waterproof pants and her two pairs of socks. “It’s not Harvest Day without something harvested that morning. Don’t you want the children to have a proper Harvest Day, like you had?”
He sighed and leaned against the wall, probably realizing that there was no way he was going to dissuade her from going out, but trying nonetheless. “They barely even know what Harvest Day is. Lusi certainly won’t know the difference—she probably won’t even be able to eat what you make. And she won’t remember this Harvest Day next year.”
Vulai smiled as she turned and rose clumsily on her tiptoes to kiss his nose. “Lusi will eat what I make, because I’m planning on mashed rampion. And even if she doesn’t consciously remember, it will still make her feel good.” She pulled her hat on, covering most of her face, and turned away before her husband could come up with another argument.
It was, indeed, incredibly cold outside, and had apparently started to snow again sometime during the night; flakes were still steadily coming down, flying about in the wind, and there were at least three more inches piled up from what she’d seen the night before. The sky was all grey with the winter storm. But Vulai could still see the tree line where their property ended, and she knew where the last place she’d seen something green was.
She bent her head and slogged through the snow. She winced after a few steps as the first hint of icy water seeped through her pants. When she got inside, though, she’d be able to dry off as long as she liked.
Finally reaching the nearest trees, she knelt in the snow and started pushing it away with her mittens. At least the trees blocked some of the wind.
The first spot she tried was nothing but brown, dried grass. She moved to the left and tried again. Dead things again; a few pine needles, which she stashed in her pocket, though they were a bit brown for tea. But the third spot was the charm.
Small plants, but green. Two different kinds. She plucked a sprig of each and brought them close to her nose so she could sniff. The familiar scents made her smile and close her eyes with pleasure. Parsley and sage. The perfect complements for a Harvest Day dinner.
Unable to keep a grin off her face, she hurried back to the house with the herbs tightly in her be-mittened hands. Her husband kindly opened the door for her, and she paused a moment after it was shut behind her, appreciating the warmth before starting to shed her layers.
He’d been silent the whole time, but when she was back in normal clothing, turned to her with questioning eyes. She held up the herbs. “You’ve never had a Harvest Day dinner without parsley and sage, have you? Now you don’t have to.”
He shook his head, smiling, and took her in his arms to kiss her softly on the forehead. “I should have known. You always get what you want, don’t you, love?”
“Always,” she responded, and lifted her head for a proper kiss. Then she looked over at the wood stove they kept in the kitchen. “You started the oat cakes.”
He shrugged, still with his arms around her. “I knew you’d be hungry when you came back, whether you found anything or not. And since you did find something, consider it an apology.”
She laughed. “I’ll take that apology. You finish, then, I’ll go get the kids.” He let her go to turn to the stove and set the oat cakes that were their usual breakfast these days on top to cook.
When she got to the kids’ room, Tarnik was already sitting up in bed, rubbing his nose and yawning. She sat gently on the edge of his tiny cot and kissed him on the head. “Feeling okay, sweetie?”
He nodded and rubbed his nose. “Sniffly.”
He didn’t have a fever, but maybe he had a cold. She hoped it wouldn’t be a bad one. This was an unpleasant time to start one. “Do you know what day it is?” He shook his head, looking up at her with big brown eyes, and she grinned playfully at him. “It’s Harvest Day. We get a special dinner.”
Did you enjoy this story? You can read more stories in this world or see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!