word mining central
Day 125:
I’ve found two surface-level supplies of quality andesite and granite jutting out of the surface in the area of the East Entrance.
As much as I believe that I should leave my location as secretly as possible, mining out these veins means doing some light landscaping work so that the ground doesn’t have giant ditches in it.
Between zombie attacks, anyway. They hide under the trees where it’s dark.
Day 124:
I’m finally starting to feel good enough to mine again, but the walk from the east entrance and back with all that stone is still pretty intense.
I’m mining a ravine nearby instead. It’s a little dangerous because the ravine runs between the ocean and the lake, and one wrong strike against a wall could bring the waters together, and me stuck in a cave below them.
Even if I wasn’t facing imminent death, it’s a major breach of mining ethics to dump an ocean into a lake. That’s how you wreck an ecosystem, right there.
Anyway, I’m hauling a lot of fill stone and gravel into the ravine to strengthen it. In some small ways I’m probably wrecking a caving system in the process, but compared to the damage that ocean could do to that lake’s freshwater fish population, I’ll take my chances.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
Day 123:
I was jumped by some zombies when I went outside to feed the duckens. Not sure where they got them, but one of the zombies was wearing gold boots.
Gold boots don’t even make sense, really. Gold is such a soft metal that they scratch like the dickens, and the hinges to keep the bits together have a lot of wear on them. I don’t even think they’re worth the gold they’re made out of.
But they sort of fit, so I’ll probably keep them around until I decide whether or not to melt them down. I don’t really want to because if I try to melt down the gold, there’s going to be a lot of impurities and I’m not sure I want to get the furnace hot enough to burn those off.
On the other hand, the gold I dug up wasn’t much purer, so maybe if I melt it all at once I’ll get something worthwhile.
Day 122:
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
There are tiny zombie children running around in my yard yelling “GRRR” like their zombie elders and attempting to kill me.
My salvation so far is the bar on the door, which even those little monsters haven’t figured out how to lift.
So somehow these things do breed. And oh are they ugly. I hope I don’t come across a whole kindergarten of them.
