Gateways 07_ What Lay Beyond - Diane Carey [111]
By the noon hour, Picard could see a man at work near the edge of the trail. He was wearing a one-piece outfit, dyed a deep blue, a floppy hat providing shade. The farmer was checking some of his crops, dark fingers weighing a stalk in his hand.
“Fair weather,” the man said as the duo approached.
“Fair weather,” Picard repeated, figuring it was a safe reply. “I have been admiring your fields. You do excellent work.”
The farmer looked directly at Picard, recognizing his somewhat different appearance. He said nothing for a bit and finally nodded in acknowledgment.
“Been dry,” he said.
“I can still hear the river so water must be plentiful.”
“Maybe. Can only carry so much of it.”
“I see your point. Is it a problem?”
“Heat’s making the stalks short, will have to harvest them sooner than I’d like.”
“Has it been dry here long?”
“Long enough,” came the reply. “Not from around here, are you?”
Chanik finally chirped up. “This Young God is Picard and I’m taking him to the City.”
At the words “Young God,” the farmer once more stared at Picard. The words meant something to him and there was a moment of suspicion. He must have decided the captain wasn’t a threat and just went back to looking at his grain.
“Do you grow much else?”
“Got my house by the water, grow me some berries, make a little wine.”
“I see. How do you make the wine?”
The man looked at Picard once more, a look of surprise on his face. The expression read as if everyone knew how to make wine, why would a Young God be asking?
“Soak the berries for a day or two, mash them in a bag… you know, the usual way.”
Picard nodded but asked, “Hot or cold?”
“The wine? Neither, serve it natural.”
“No, the soaking. Do you use hot water or cold?”
“Just pull water from the river, fill up the basins and dump in the berries.”
“I see. I think you might find the wine more flavorful if you use hot water for the soaking. Do you add anything to the berries?”
“Nope, just let ‘em ferment.”
“How long before you serve it?”
“From soakin’ to servin’, must be a few months.” The farmer was looking less suspicious, caught up in the discussion of tradecraft.
“What do they ferment in?”
“Earthenware jars keep ‘em in a shed back of the house.”
“There’s plenty of wood nearby if you make barrels, I think you will find they age better. And I’d let them sit longer before serving, maybe up to a year.” He wasn’t sure how long they measured their time, but given the day-night cycle he’d witnessed, it wasn’t too far from Earth norms.
“That a fact?”
Chanik stayed silent, watching in fascination as Picard continued to question the methods and suggested alternatives. The farmer didn’t dispute the comments, nor was he agreeing with them, just nodding occasionally.
Picard reached into his bag and pulled out one of the yellow fruits, which Chanik had called a quint. “For variety, you might want to try adding some fruit juice. Something like this might be good, or mix some other fruits. I would, though, only add about two fistfuls of juice to a barrel as high as your knee.”
“Fruit in my wine? What for?”
“Good as your berries are, wouldn’t you want some wines that are sweeter or tarter throughout the day or year?”
“Maybe. Never thought about it.”
“I grew up learning the craft,” Picard said, his mind’s eye picturing the Picard family vineyards and the years he spent helping his father.
“That a fact.”
“That it is,” Picard replied. “I’d really like to stay and show you, but Chanik is right: We’re going to the City and I am pressed for time.”
The farmer chuckled at the word “pressed” since it was a winemaking term. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Well, I wish you luck. Might try some of your ideas.”
“I think you’ll find yourself the envy of the area,” Picard said with good humor.
“Going with just the quints?”
Picard nodded, not really giving his food supplies much thought.