Flashback A Garden Reassembled

[Oleander Soleran]

76th of Winter, 513 AV

Oleander awoke to the tickling of breath on his neck. It was a pleasant sensation; in fact, it gave him a feeling of belonging. The breath always belonged to the same person – his sister, who, when having a nightmare, still silently crawled into his bed at night to seek consolation, even after all these years. They were very different, Hortense and himself, like two sides of the same coin. Her side was bright and blinding, polished and shimmering when Syna’s light fell upon it. He was the side that usually lay in the dirt, but he did not mind it. While Hortense loved the attention, Oleander was more than happy to dig around in the soil and look after his herb.

He got up, careful not to wake his sister as he unwrapped himself from the blankets, and looked out of the window. The sun had not yet fully risen, the perfect opportunity to tend to his garden. His father was already out, checking the mousetraps or simply enjoying the view over the Syliras fields. Hortense would wake when the sun touched her face, with a sneeze, as she always did. Oleander knew she preferred lonely mornings, just like him. Today, the air was fresh and dewy, a vanguard of spring, and his plants were drawing hope. He got dressed, and then carefully opened the door, aware that its usual creak might wake his sleeping sister, turning her into a tired dragon for the rest of the day. He managed to slide out quietly, rounded a corner and approached his small flowerbeds behind the house.

Most of his beds were utterly destroyed, and the evildoer had left its trademark all over the place. Oleander muttered a curse as he counted the molehills. Eight. Apparently, the little beast was trying to start a colony in his garden. With a sigh, the young man turned back to the destruction. Multiple stems of Tolm were snapped and the chamomile did not look like it would make it. Underneath the bearberry bush, a single boneset leaf looked out from under a pile of earth clumps. The catnip looked like someone had rolled right through, but he suspected a different culprit for this specific deed. The only plants that seemed completely unharmed were those standing close to the mint, which he had planted because he knew moles did not like the smell, not because he especially loved the tea brewed from its small leaves. A second area had survived, as well. It surrounded the only shrub his father had planted, the oleander. He and Hortense loved it for the beautiful flowers it sprouted in summer, as well as the giggles they drew from Oleander’s exasperated sighs whenever they made a joke about his namesake. Himself, he had not wanted the shrub, mainly because it was highly poisonous and did not fit in with the rest of his stock. However, it had taken roots so well that he could not bear to dig it out, so it remained.

He picked up a watering can, filled it in the rain barrel and started handing out liquid life to his herbaceous friends. He did not start to clean up the mess yet, there was time for that later. As he went, he plucked a couple of dead leafs off the oleander. The stubborn thing that had refused to die in his garden had quickly become the biggest shrub he had. The garden was full of pink blossoms every year, and cutting the plant back in autumn regularly caused him to break a sweat, lignified as it was. But even the oleander had lost some of its green to the frost of the passing season, and would breathe a proverbial sigh of relief once the watchstones turned green.

OOCRepost in spring according to Pentacle's suggestion.

[Oleander Soleran]

After he finished his small morning round, he returned the can to its place beside the compost, washed the earth off his hands in the rain barrel and returned inside with freezing fingertips. Spring was coming, but a cool breeze on wet fingers still had an impact.

“Good morning, brother dear!”, Hortense called over from the small fireplace that served both as their cooking and heating equipment while she clattered with the wooden plates. The house smelled lightly of smoke and strongly of fried egg. “Get over here; I think I got the consistency right this time.”

“Won’t father be joining us for breakfast?” Oleander hung his coat at the wardrobe, then came closer. Hortense’s creation smelled non-hazardous and looked edible, but nonetheless, he proceeded with caution, remembering past disasters.

His sister set down two plates, one for each of them, filled with scrambled eggs and a thick slice of buttered bread. “I don’t think he will. Yesterday, he said he had to leave earlier today so he could check on Maynard and Elise. See if they’ve gotten any better; ask if they needed any help.”

Maynard and his wife lived a few cottages away and were one of the families who had helped Oleander’s family settle in when they first came to the outpost. They were a gentle couple, slightly older than Rendan Soleran, but childless. Elise had caught a cold the previous week and Maynard had been coughing too when Oleander had last seen him, although he had claimed it was just the dust. But spring waited for no one and the seed needed to be sown, so naturally, Rendan worried for his friends.

“The garden has taken some damage overnight, but if they need help, chopping some wood or other arduous tasks, it can wait”, Oleander remarked while he filled his mouth with egg. It was delicious, neither too liquid nor rubbery and more fluffy than what he was used to. Mouth half-full, he pointed his fork at his plate. “Have you changed anything?”

“Beat the whites stiff,” she remarked with a smile. “What’s wrong with your plants, this time? Didn’t you talk to them long enough?”

Oleander frowned at her mockery. “Actually, the mole is back. I suppose the mint has lost its strong smell over winter, but it seems the oleander has similar properties when it comes to repelling that beast.”

“See? Just like you, that thing can do a little more than look pretty – even if it’s just getting rid of especially dangerous predators.” Before he could respond, she hit a more serious tone. “Don’t worry about Maynard and Elise, I’ll watch out for them. When I’m done with our laundry, I’ll pick up some vegetables and milk for them from the Bazaar and help Elise with her cooking.”

“We’re in luck that winter was so mild this year,” Oleander said. “Some of my herbs sprouted early. I’ll see if some fresh horsemint survived the night, you can brew it for them as a tea to help relieve them. It eases the breathing, and it’s nice against sore throats. Especially if you add a drop of honey.”

Hortense nodded, and all that could be heard for the remainder of their breakfast was the clattering of tin forks on wooden plates, as well as birdsong from outside. After they finished their meal, the siblings stacked the plates and started washing the dishes. Hortense’s pan was slightly burned-in as always, but it was unclear whether that was due to her cooking skill or the properties of the low-quality cooking equipment. While Oleander tried to scrub the black out of it, Hortense dried the pieces he had already finished cleaning. It was an unspoken ritual – while Hortense handled most of the household on her own, they always did the dishes together.

“You know what, I think I’ll reorganize the garden,” Oleander mused as he set the last wet cup onto the small dish rack, realigning the rows in his mind. Hortense did not react. “I’ll have to experiment with the oleander a little, see if it actually helps repelling the moles or whether that was a coincidence.”

“Whatever, Ol”, his sister said. “You know I’ve no idea what you’re doing out there. If you ask me, instead of fighting moles, you could spend a little more time on the field, helping dad. Or at least invent types of rosemary and thyme that we can use for seasoning in winter, so the meals aren’t so dull. And how about fruit trees and vegetables instead of fungi and anti-cough shrubs?”

Oleander snorted. “You know I can’t ‘invent’ plants. That’s not how gardening works.”

“But don’t people cross different species to create something new?”

“I think you’re confusing herbs with dogs, Hortense.”

She hung the towel away for drying and crossed her arms in front of her body. “I know what I’ve heard. It just doesn’t interest you.”

She had a point; his main interest was in medicinal herbs. Still, that did not mean he categorically ruled everything else out. “The garden simply isn’t large enough to support zucchini and whatnot, so I concentrate on what I know best and expand on that. Ask father to cut on the corn and grow vegetables instead.”

“Well, you’ll do what you want anyways. Not like I have a say in that.” She threw her hands up in a show of exasperation that he knew was not real. “Off you go.”

He was dismissed.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander snatched a piece of parchment, quill and ink from a shelf close to the door and left their home, settling instead on a bench placed in the shadow of the roof, facing the garden. Then he started scribbling plans for how he would rearrange it. The lavender would remain on its own. It tended to destroy anything planted too close to it. Essentially, lavender was a loner. It smelled nice, but he could not pair it with anything else, not even the herbs that shared its love for sandy spots, like thyme. There was only one such spot in the garden, and Oleander had created it specifically to support lavender. It was situated at the far end of the garden and he would not move it. It could be brewed as a tea that was a universal remedy for all kinds of little ailments and the smell was beautiful. Oleander knew that Hortense sometimes snuck into the garden to cut some stems off the wildly growing shrub, tie them into tiny bags and put them with her clothes after washing them for a good smell. It was a scent he connected with his sister.

The rest of the garden had been messy even before the moles struck, planted at leisure and without any recognizable path. The property was not incredibly large, but with a little more organization, he might be able to fit a few extra herbs in. He had also learned a thing or two about which plants went together and which did not and wanted to incorporate that into the new arrangement.

He wanted a few small trails to lead around the edges and through the middle of the garden so plants would be easier to reach, water and harvest without stepping on loose soil or accidentally trampling saplings. He did not feel especially motivated to dig the oleander out, so he would build the other plants around it.

Basil benefited from rosemary in close proximity and rosemary went well with thyme, so he would place them in that order and add fennel beside the thyme, too. He could extend his mint stock and plant a small row in front of these to keep them safe from the moles.

There would be a path leading straight towards the lavender from where he was sitting right now, and mint and the other herbs would be sitting towards the right side of it. On the left, there was the oleander, and he was planning to arrange the less demanding plants around it. Catnip, sage, ginger and parsley, chamomile and, closest to his seat, tolm, his personal favourite. Between oleander and lavender, he would make room for boneset and a small basil plant he had bought on the market the previous week.

He put the parchment aside and rubbed the back of his hand absent-mindedly while his gaze swept over the garden, effectively smudging the ink stains that had formed there while he was sketching. Where should he start? Was it better to pull all herbs from the ground, digging the area over, then planting them all anew? He had no idea how deeply they had rooted, either. There was a fair chance he would need longer than one day or two to complete the task, and some of his beloved plants could wither during that time. An idea struck his mind, but he’d need more equipment for this.

Oleander picked up a small stone from the ground and placed it on top of his parchment so he would not lose it to a breeze while he was absent, stuffed the quill into a pocket with much less care and jogged off towards the market. The sun was rising on the far horizon and he hurried. The potter liked to take a midday nap and Oleander wanted to start working before that break ensued.

When he reached the small market stall the man had erected in front of his house, Marek, the potter, had just started packing his equipment. The man was less concerned about thieves than he was about housewives strolling through the square in a hurry and accidentally pushing his precious bowls off their respective racks. The aging man glanced up from a glazed jar he was currently wrapping into cloth. “Ah, Oleander. Did your sister drop one of the dishes again?” He smiled.

“I need a large pot,” Oleander said, shaking his head and cutting straight to the point.. “To temporarily store some plants.”

Marek raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you try the ground to store them? It’s not so cold you need to take them inside.”

“I’m trying to change the garden layout”, Oleander explained and admitted: “And it’ll be much faster to put them in a pot and water them there overnight than to loosen the soil around the garden and dig them out and plant them twice. I’d also end up with twenty little holes around the garden. Father would kill me alongside the moles.”

“So… What happened to the pots I gave you last winter? For free, I might add?”

“About those, um… A cat must have dropped them in the middle of the night. I awoke to their clashing and smashing just the other week.” It was the best lie he could come up with from the spot. He had swept them off the windowsill himself while trying to reach for a broomstick leaning outside through the open window.

“Aha, a cat.” Marek paused for a moment and blinked. “Right. Well, I think I have just what you need.” He vanished inside his house for a moment, then returned with a pot high enough to reach Oleander’s knees when placed on the ground and just as wide. It was obviously a little heavy, too. “This one’s been sitting around forever. Nobody can cook enough soup to fill it even halfway and you are the only one trying to fit his entire garden into a single pot.” He set it down heavily in front of Oleander’s feet. "I’ll let you have it for a miza and a half.”

“Fifteen silvers?” Oleander’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t be serious. You said nobody had use for it!”

“You do, don’t you?” Marek beamed. “Well, I’ll let you have it for ten.”

Oleander begrudgingly exchanged a single golden miza against the new pot, then slowly carried it home, careful not to drop it. He’d worry about explaining this to Hortense later. As soon as she’d notice there was a suspicious new pot outside, she’d wonder where the money to buy it had come from and sooner or later, she’d notice the miza missing from the fabric budget she had for her sewing work. Oleander could already feel the storm of her wrath gathering on the far horizon of this afternoon, but he refused to worry about it just yet.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander snuck around the corners of the house carefully upon returning to the home he shared with his family. He wanted to avoid being seen by his sister, returning father or anyone else in the community who knew him well enough to tell his guilty smile from a genuine one. If someone found out he had bought himself a new pot before he had a chance to soil it, they would make him return it as certainly as the sun kissed the horizon at nightfall. He would rather avoid trying to explain to Marek why he had to return the put, too, and watch the potter’s arrogant smile as he denied him.

Instead, he crouched as low as the pot allowed him to without tipping over as he carried it below the windowsill. Inside, his sister was singing Jolly Springtime, ending each verse half a note higher than she had started until she found herself unable to reach the highest tunes. It was not exactly terrible, but Hortense would never be a soloist at a theatre, either. Oleander wondered if he did the same thing when humming without noticing, but it hardly mattered. He never sang in front of an audience. As long as Hortense was occupied, he had a fair chance of sneaking past without being caught.

When he had almost reached the garden, he stepped on a loose stone, tripped and almost fell over his pot, but regained his balance just in time. He could not hold on to the pot, though, and it fell with a clonk. A small crack appeared near the bottom, but Oleander was too busy freezing and perking his ears towards the possible witness to notice. Hortense, however, had moved to the far end of the house to conclude some work there and was still singing, obviously undisturbed.

Oleander took a deep breath, then picked up the pot again and carried it into the garden, where he sat it down in the middle of the mess, where the middle path would be when he was done here. Looking down at his hand, he saw them stained with his own blood. When he examined the pot, he noticed the crack that had formed during his earlier accident. A small piece of clay had chipped off, leaving a sharp edge that he had grasped right into.

Well, there was no returning the pot now. With luck, it would stay in one piece for a while yet, but even if it did not survive this adventure, it did not matter. It would last as long as he did not move it further, and that was all he needed. From a small shed, he obtained a spade, hand shovel, watering can and knife and got to work.

For the next few hours, he was occupied digging plants from their spots in the garden and placing them in the clay pot. The herbs moved easily, few of their roots went deep enough to give them trouble. He had to throw away half the parsley plants since the mole had undermined them, but parsley was easy to grow back and it spread well, so he did not mind it. The catnip, in turn, had suffered from worms that had chewed away at its roots. The leaves were not withering yet, but he still threw it out. At least the lack of drugs might keep cats from rolling through his beds in the future. He definitely had to think of a way to keep worms away, later, though. Hortense stopped by a few times to remind him to drink, but did not seem to notice that he had a pot he was not supposed to possess.

The oleander proved a more difficult opponent. While the roots had not spread far and wide or especially deep like a taproot might, it had formed a tight and tangled root ball that Oleander was afraid to cut off in the wrong places, but digging out proved to be a tedious duty. By the time he was done, dusk was approaching and he postponed his plans to dig the garden, now more of an unruly battlefield, over and perhaps cut the oleander’s cross ramification before he replanted it and reduce the root ball some so it would not cluster as much when spring came.

[Oleander Soleran]

77th of Winter, 513 AV

It was well past noon when Oleander put down the shovel and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He obviously was not used to physical hard work, and evening out the mess he had left in the garden the other day while simultaneously loosening up the soil so the plants would have an easier time taking root again proved more difficult than he had imagined. Winter had taken one last breath and exhaled it over the land, leaving an icy touch in the soil that Oleander found hard to dig past. His arms and legs would certainly hurt the next day from the unexpected bit of exercise they had gotten.

Standing up straight, he exhaled sharply at the pain that shot up his back. He had worked in a bent position all forenoon, and his spine was beginning to express aversion. Well, at least he was done with the bulk of the task.

Over a lunch table filled with half-burnt potatoes and salad that crunched between Oleander’s teeth, indicating that some sand had resisted Hortense’s washing attempt, his father expressed some pride in his son’s hard work. “It seems that you have some strength in you after all, Oleander. Maybe you’ll come around and help me on the field this year?”

Ah, of course. This was not about pride; this was about gaining an additional hand for working. “Only if you’ll grow something more interesting than rye, father.” He chewed with minimal effort, trying hard to neither lose a tooth to the salad nor insult his sister’s cooking.

Rendan sighed. “Well, maybe you could expand instead. If you have the strength to break up the winter soil, surely you can also dig up a second garden and fill it with vegetables. Give Hortense something to work with this summer.” It seemed that Rendan was equally reluctant to eat salad for the rest of the year. There was less space for pebbles in a zucchini, after all.

Oleander considered it. While the medical use of tomatoes and peas was limited, he could see the point in having some edible fruit for a change. Expanding on his botanical horizon would not hurt, either. “Agreed, if you’ll give me money for the seeds.”

“While you’re at it, I’ll need something for new material”, Hortense chimed in. Oleander tensed, but it seemed that his sister had not realized that her budget had been a bit broader just one day ago. “I didn’t realize I spent so much last season, father.”

Rendan merely nodded, trusting that his daughter was not one to waste money. “You’ll have it, darling.”

Oleander smiled, but only until Hortense shot him a knowing glance. So she had noticed. And she would undoubtedly ask something in return for her silence. His smile faded into a feeling of unease. With a scrape, he pushed his stool over the ground as he stood up. “I’ll go back outside and wrap it up.”

Wrap it up was an understatement, of course. Planting everything he had dug out in the formation he had thought of took him several more bells, then he needed to water them all, then he needed to tamp out the walking paths and finally, as the sun was setting on the second day, he was finished.

Ignoring the burning that was starting to form in his arms, he sat down underneath the oleander cross-legged and looked upon his work. This would keep the moles away, and everything else would be easier to access. He was content with his work.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on bringing himself into accord with the nature around him and spoke a prayer to his goddess:

“My lady Caiyha,
watch over these saplings as you do over all those you give life to.
Let them flourish in spring,
let no sickness befall them
and grant them the strength to take root and bear fruit.
With each day the sun shines upon it
and each time the nightingale raises her song
all that is alive praises you
with heart and soul, with word and thought.”

[Samuel Longwell]

Grading Complete Please edit your grade request thread so that it's obvious that it's been graded. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions/problems with your grade. Name: Oleander XP Award: Observation 2 Gardening 4 Botany 2 Socialisation 2 Herbalism 2 Planning 1 Writing 1 Negotiation 1 Endurance 2 Prayer 1 Lore: Mint: Moles don't like the smell Horsemint: Eases the breathing The task of rearranging a garden Notes: Please make sure you subtract 1GM from your ledger for the pot. I enjoyed reading this, the subject really grew on me! Oleander's relationship with his family was well written too, very believable. Enjoy your grades.