Author: kirabug

Day 708: I planted a lot of bamboo today.

I planted bamboo in part because I’ve been growing it outside my house, but monsters like to hide in it there, and it’s a bit disconcerting to have someone jumping out to kill you when you just got up in the morning.

On the other hand, I’m fond of having paper, especially when it comes to things like keeping this journal and making my maps. This could be because layering some mashed up plant pulp on top of each other and drying it is a heck of a lot easier than spending three days scraping a sheep skin to make vellum. I mean, I don’t think I’m lazy necessarily, but I certainly have other things I could be doing.

Anyway, planted a whole load of bamboo shoots down near the volcano. I don’t have to worry about being jumped down there and it’s a swamp, so there’s plenty of water. It’s nice to have a place to grow something I need that won’t also necessarily lead to unexpected death.

Now if I could just get a hold of the sonic washing machine that was on the ship to get this thick mud off my pants…

Day 707:

Nothing like digging west to figure out what’s out here safely only to find a pit with not one, not three, but seven zombies hanging out with a flock of ducken.

Some day I’ll figure out why the zombies don’t attack the ducken.

Maybe it’s the smell? I don’t know.

But the zombies are gone now and I have a pile of rotted meat the ducken won’t eat. In a pit. Far from home.

Kinda gross, actually.

I’ve managed to clean up the area around the volcano without getting killed by the volcano.

It’s actually kind of cool — the whole southern area of the map is now cleaned up and neat and harder for things to murder me through.

I’m not sure that my friends would call me a miner anymore. I’m spending so much time on the surface I might as well be a landscaper.

On the other hand, “lawn” isn’t a thing people get in space. We have no single-family homes, no ranches, no trees…

But here there’s no coffee.

So maybe it’s a tie.

Day 705:

There’s a bunch of lily pads outside on the river. They’re heavy enough to hold my weight when I go fishing, but light enough that I can accidentally catch them when I’m fishing. They seem pretty fragile, a good whack against the stem sends them loose. But on the other hand they’re sturdy enough to hold one however-many-pounds me.

It’s kind of fascinating, and maybe a metaphor for life, that we can be both sturdy enough for others to get a lift, and fragile enough to come tumbling down.

They also make a cute squish noise when I walk on them.

Day 704: It’s wet.

But there’s sand.

Does anyone know where I can get some neoprene sheep so I  can knit a proper wet suit?

I am so tired of being cold and wet.