(Flashback) The Yearly Planting

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

(Flashback) The Yearly Planting

Postby Syrah Steele on May 15th, 2012, 1:22 am

Timestamp: Spring Day 5, 508


Dean woke Syrah up just as the sun was rising. He told her the day before that they were going to the vineyards to begin the planting of the grape vines. She quickly got up and got dressed in her brown flats, brown skirt and white linen blouse. She grabbed a backpack that was filled with some snacks and water that she prepared last night. Syrah and her father walked to the outskirts to Syliras to the vineyards. His employees and slaves that worked at the winery were all there, awake and ready to work. Dean must have warned them beforehand. Every year since Syrah was 15 she participated in the planting of the vines. She knew many of the workers by sight and nodded as she joined the crowd. Her father stood on a crate in front of the gathering.

“Today we plant!” he boomed, “Like always some of you will transport the plants from the greenhouse to the wagons to the people outside, you all know who you are. The rest of you will plant the vines in the correct manner.” he paused, taking a long look at the crowd, “Anyone have any questions?” Of course no one raised their hand. If they did have a question they would ask a fellow worker, asking the boss meant instant dismissal. Dean didn’t deal with people who didn’t know what they were doing, everyone he hired knew what they were going into. “Good, get to your places, get to work!” With that he stepped off the crate, turned around and headed toward the greenhouse to supervise the first part of the job, many of the workers followed after him.

Syrah didn’t work in the greenhouse, she had in her first couple of years, but when she knew enough she demanded that she worked in the fields. She liked the fields more, the actual planting. The greenhouse was boring, all you did was load plants into wagons connected to horses and lead the horses out. She thought that was a waste of her time when there was plenty of paid workers and slaves to do that instead. She nodded at the worker, er slave, next to her and went to her usual post. Her post was a trellis in the front of the small, albino grape section.

While the inside workers prepped the horses and loaded the wagons the outside workers weeded. It was backbreaking work, well all of it was, and they were bending over, their spines never straight the entire time. Syrah sat down on the dirt, took off her flats and tried to sit straight and weed, like she always did, so she wouldn’t end up with a crooked back. It was surprising how little weeds there actually was. Most of the time any weeds that sprung up after the harvest were quickly beaten down when the first winter storm or frost came in. Then after the last frost of the winter only a few had either survived or were new green little plants that hoped to survive. Unfortunately for them their hopes and dreams were wrecked when the workers came back and ripped up their delicate roots and were left there to die and become fertilizer for the upcoming grapes.

Syrah’s section contained about 20 trellises and after about a bell and a half or so she had finished weeding. Little piles of dying weeds were scattered all around ready to give up on life and become brown, soon to be turned into brand new dirt. Her nails were chipped and caked in the cold earth and she tried to pick out the soil while she waited for the horses to be lead out with the first load of vines.

Soon enough she saw a horse come down the aisle. Quickly she drank a swig of water from her water skin then started to unload one plant at a time. The first plant was a small little vine with big green leaves. She carefully set it aside as she dug about a half a foot deep with her hands at the bottom of a trellis. The she placed the plant inside the hole and filled it in. She took a second plant and dug another hole about a foot away, giving enough room for the plants to breathe. Each plant took about one minute to plant and about 5 plants to a trellis. Times around 20 trellises, Syrah was done in about two bells.

She stood up and stretched her worn back, curled her toes in the dirt and raised her arms swinging them slowing in a large arc stretching them out. Looking around she saw that everyone else was finishing up or finishing, with the rare exception of the slow man. She walked back to her pack and ate an apple and some nuts out of the bag, washing it all down with the rest of her water. When she looked back up her father was standing in front of her.
“Come to check me, father?” she asked. Every year her dad checked each and every single plant she planted and every weed she pulled. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust her; it was because he wanted her perfect. So perfect that one day she could inherit his estate and winery and vineyards, he wanted her to have it when he was too old or too dead, to run it himself.

“Of course, are you done?”

“I just finished, didn’t have time to check it over myself before you walked in.”
she teased.

“Ha ha,” he faked, “come, you know, some finished before you.”

“Being fast is not always being perfect daddy.”
She replied.

“It can be.” He answered simply.

Syrah rolled her eyes behind her father’s back and followed him and he inspected her work. Every few minutes he would bend down and pull a tiny weed that Syrah doubted he could even see, or he would straighten a vine or curl it around the post more. Syrah could have done it pristinely and he still would have found something slightly wrong, just so he could show her that she still needed to be better.

He finished his tour after 10 chimes and turned to Syrah. “Good job, you can go home now if you wish.”

“I did okay then?”
she asked, hopeful.

“Yes dear, you did. Go tell your mother how your day was, I must finish with the rest of these people.”

“Thanks daddy.”
She smiled, and picked up her pack, put on her shoes and walked back home.

At home she didn’t tell her mother how her day was, even after she asked Syrah just shrugged. She did this every year, not willing to share her good experienced with the one who didn’t care.
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"I would like to most graciously thank Ms. Steele for providing me with much needed deep and intellectual RP that goes beyond, 'Hey I don't like you let's fight.' So if you do read this Syrah thank you very much!'" - Desmus Marrudius
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Syrah Steele
My heart is cold but, so is the wine.
 
Posts: 192
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(Flashback) The Yearly Planting

Postby Chevalier on May 17th, 2012, 7:12 pm

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Syrah


LORE
  • Spotting Weeds
  • Being a Perfectionist
  • The Planting of Grapes
  • The Tasks Involved in a Vineyard
EXPERIENCE
Skill XP Earned
Agriculture 2
Obseravtion 1


Storyteller Notes


Secret :
Alrighty. It was a very short thread, but keep at it and you'll be a potent vinter in no time. Agriculture for obvious reasons, and I figured I'd throw in some Observation for trying to spot weeds and what have you.
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Chevalier
Knighted by Dusk
 
Posts: 322
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Joined roleplay: December 12th, 2011, 6:50 am
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