The Feast of Saint Maude Barlow, of Fresh Water. New moon.
Zeb has been recovering from the death of Adam. He and the others are working on an extension to the cobb house because they will soon need a nursery. The pregnancies are advancing much faster than is usual, and most of the women believe that all three of the babies will be Craker hybrids.
The garden is progressing well. The Mo’Hair flock is increasing – there have been three new additions to it, one blue-haired, one a red-head, and one blond – though one of the lambs was lost to a liobam. The liobams, too, appear to be on the increase.
“One of the Crakers reports seeing something that sounds like a bear,” Toby writes. “It wouldn’t be surprising. Perhaps we should set a guard for the beehives? There are two hives now, as another swarm was captured.
“Deer are proliferating: they are an acceptable source of animal protein. They are much leaner than pork, though not as tasty. Venison does not make top-quality bacon. But Rebecca says it is healthier.”
The Festival of Gymnosperms. Full moon.
Toby made the mistake of announcing to the others that this was the God’s Gardener Festival of Gymnosperms. Several bad jokes about gymnasts and sperms and even male Crakers were made, one of them by Zeb, which is a good sign. Perhaps his time of mourning is coming to an end.
Three more functioning solar units have been installed. An existing one has gone out of commission. One of the violet biolets is malfunctioning. Shackleton and Crozier have experimented with making charcoal: the results have been mixed. Rhino, Katuro, and Manatee have gone fishing down by the shore. Ivory Bill is designing a coracle.
Two young Pigoons – barely more than piglets – dug under the garden fence and were discovered eating the root vegetables, the carrots and beets in particular. The MaddAddamites had slacked off their vigilance as regards the Pigoons, thinking that their agreement would hold. And it is holding, with the adults; but juveniles of all kinds push the rules.
A conference was called. The Pigoons sent a delegation of three adults, who seemed both embarrassed and cross, as adults put to shame by their young usually are. Blackbeard stood as interpreter.
It would not happen again, said the Pigoons. The young offenders had been threatened with a sudden transition to a state of bacon and soup bones, which seems to have made the desired impression.
The Festival of Saint Geyikli Baba of Deer. New moon.
The bees are productive: the first honey harvest has taken place. White Sedge has begun a Meditation to Music group, which many of the Crakers enjoy. Beluga is helping her. Tamaraw has been experimenting with sheep cheese, both hard and soft; also yogurt. The nursery has been finished, just in time. Very soon now, the three babies will be born, though Swift Fox claims she is having twins. Cradles are being discussed.
“Blackbeard has his own journal now,” Toby writes. “I have given him his own pen, and a pencil. I would like to know what he is writing but I don’t wish to pry. He’s as tall as Crozier now. Already he is showing signs of blueness; very soon he will be grown up. Why does this make me sad?”
The Feast of Saint Fiacre of Gardens.
This is my voice, the voice of Blackbeard that you are hearing in your head. That is called reading. And this is my own book, a new one for my writing and not the writing of Toby.
Today Toby and Zeb did a strange thing. They jumped over a small fire and then Toby gave Zeb a green branch and Zeb gave Toby a green branch. And then they kissed each other. And all those with two skins watched, and then they cheered.
And I (Blackbeard) said, “Oh Toby, why are you doing this?”
And Toby said, “It is a custom we have. It shows that we love each other.”
And I (Blackberd) said, “But you love each other anyway.”
And Toby said, “It is hard to explain.” And Amanda said, “Because it makes them happy.” Blackbeard (I am Blackbard Blackbeard) does not see why. But what makes them happy or not happy is strange.
Soon Blacbeard will be ready for his first mating. When the next woman turns blue, he will turn very blue also, and gather flowers; and maybe he will be chosen. He (I, Blackbeard) asked Toby if the green branches were like that, like the flowers that we give, to be chosen, and then we sing; and she said yes, it was something like that. So now I understand it better.
Thank you. Good night.
The Festival of Quercus. The Feast of Pigoons. Full moon.
“I have taken the liberty of adding the Pigoons to the regular calendar of Gardener feasts,” Toby writes. “They deserve to have a day named in their honour. I’ve attached them to the Festival of Quercus, the oak tree day. I thought it was fitting, because of the acorns.”
The Feast of Artemis, Mistress of the Animals. Full moon.