Late summer planting party

[markwatney]

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: The area right behind the town hall
WHEN: Between August 13-20
OPEN TO: OTA, party-style post
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed

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Life, I think, has a way of settling into a routine regardless of where you are. You stay in a place long enough, it just happens -- Your circadian rhythms shift, your psyche builds or pulls down partitions as necessary, and things become some version of normal.

Seeing as how this place is only the second-most screwed up place I've been stuck for months at a time, I consider myself something of an expert on this subject.

So, for weeks now, I've had my routine. I get up near dawn, I splash water on my face, I make myself something to eat from what I gathered the day before, I indulge in a cup of weak chicory tea that never fails to be a disappointing substitute for coffee, and I head out to comb the forest for edibles. For awhile now -- Since the end of the first week, to be honest -- the instinct to be better prepared has been niggling at me. I spent some time prepping a modest plot of soil next to the house, and the greens I seeded in there are coming along nicely, but it's done little to quiet that ever-persistent voice at the back of my head that's saying it's not enough. It's not nearly enough.

Today, I got up, I splashed water on my face, but I never quite made it to preparing breakfast. Sitting on the dining room table was a box, and the box was addressed to me.

Let me just make this clear: There's a world of difference between suspecting that you've been put in a place as someone's plaything and knowing it.

I spent a long time sitting at the dining room table, sipping my terrible coffee substitute and staring at that damned box. Clearly it was meant as a gift, a gesture of goodwill, but objectively understanding that didn't keep my stomach from twisting up at the very idea of it.

But what could I do? Rail against the unfairness of the situation? Scream at the sky and hope my captors would hear? I knew shit about who they were, but already I suspected how little difference any of that would make. Instead, I rinsed out my cup, hefted the box under my arm, and set about working the problem one step at a time.

First things first: Seeds need tilled soil, and we'll need a lot of room to plant enough to help get us through winter. The patch of land behind what I've come to think of as the town hall is more sparse than most of the land around the village, but I'll still need help to clear it. A lot of help.

The good news is, most people can see the value in not starving to death.


[Party-style post! If you're tagging Mark directly, please just note as much. Your character can be cutting down small trees, digging/pulling out stumps (cows can help!), pulling out weeds, tilling soil, planting/watering, building the compost pile, etc.]