Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 6

I brush the garden dirt off my skirt and pull a small, leather-bound notebook from my apron pocket. It is time to face the music and write down a definitive list of the property’s flaws. I walk slowly from structure to structure, making a grim tally of everything that needs attention.

The cottage itself needs immediate work: there are two broken windows in the front and one in the back, several missing roof shingles, and judging by the water stains on the bedroom ceiling, a leaky roof that will cause trouble during the next heavy storm. I trudge back over to the greenhouse and count at least a dozen shattered glass panels. The perimeter fence has rotted posts, the barn doors are practically falling off their hinges, and the chicken coop still needs a secure new latch and wire mesh. To top it all off, every single wooden surface is desperate for a fresh coat of paint.

I stare down at the long list, and a heavy, suffocating wave of sadness washes over me. My shoulders slump. I flip to the back of my notebook where I keep track of my coin, and the reality of it hits hard: I simply do not have the silver necessary to fix any of this. I am completely broke, and a village witch cannot buy glass or lumber with good intentions.

For a few minutes, I just sit on the front steps, staring helplessly at the overgrown yard, feeling entirely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of this fixer-upper.

But sitting here weeping won't mend a fence. I tuck the notebook away, stand up, and tie my hair back securely. If I cannot afford to build or repair yet, I can at least clean.

I spend the rest of the afternoon waging war against the property's neglect. I rip out the thick weeds invading the walking paths, pile up the dead branches scattered across the grass, and carefully gather up the sharp shards of shattered greenhouse glass from the dirt. By the time the sun begins to dip below the trees, my hands are scratched and my back aches terribly, but the yard finally looks cared for. The debris is cleared, the soil is visible, and the cottage looks like someone actually lives here now. It is a small start, but it is all I can do for now.

(All images were created with AI)

Apothecaria Winter Week 13 pt 5

The morning air is crisp, and my fingers are slightly sore from yesterday’s milking, but I manage to complete my chores successfully. I toss grain to the clucking chickens and carefully fill a bucket with fresh, warm milk from a remarkably cooperative Shelby. With the morning tasks out of the way, I decide it is time to map out the potential of my new land.

I take a slow walk around the perimeter of the cottage, stepping over stubborn weeds and wild patches of grass. Just past the edge of the cottage wall, I spot two clear plots of soil meant for gardening. One is distinctly smaller than the other, both currently choked with a carpet of invading weeds, but the dirt beneath looks rich and dark.

My feet carry me over to the dilapidated greenhouse. Stepping inside, the sight of the shattered glass panels and empty, dust-covered tables makes a heavy wave of sadness wash over me. It is such a beautiful structure left to ruin. Determined to find a silver lining, I start rummaging through the old wooden drawers and storage crates pushed against the back wall.

My search pays off beautifully. Tucked away in a tin box, I discover small paper packets of onion, tomato, and strawberry seeds. My heart skips a beat when my fingers brush against one last packet labeled Songberry seeds. I know this name instantly from my hours spent studying in the Academy —Songberry is a vital reagent used to cure MOOD ailments in patients.

I spot a couple of sturdy clay pots stacked under a workbench, and a practical idea takes hold. I can grow these right here. That way, I will eventually have some fresh veggies to eat, and I will always have at least one reliable reagent on hand without needing to trek into the wilderness.

I bring the pots over to the light, fill them with scoopfuls of soil, and carefully press the onion, tomato, and strawberry seeds into the dirt, patting them down gently. Carrying my precious Songberry seeds outside, I clear out a section of the smaller plot and tuck them into the earth where the sun hits just right.

Finally, I do one more sweep of the greenhouse storage and manage to find a small pouch of leftover wheat grains. I head over to the larger plot, scatter the grains across the tilled earth, and cover them safely.

As I wipe the dirt from my hands, a warm sense of pride washes over me. I smile, incredibly grateful for the long summers I spent in my teens learning the basics of gardening back in the bustling city of Fawcliffe. That knowledge helped me at Starlight Academy too. While I didn't know much about reagents, I knew how to prepare the soil, water and care for the little plants and harvesting them too. Several of my peers had trouble wih all of this, especially the ones that didn't like to get dirty. Our Apothecary teacher wouldn't let us use reagents unless we grew or foraged for them ourselves, those were very valuable lessons. I might write a letter to proffesor Rosalind, she might be able to give me advise. I miss my Academy days!

(All images were created with AI)