Chapter 221: Chow Time

Editor: nnpdad

We found a tiny, still cove on the west bank of the river, right up against the bluff – that meant no acres of flood plain for bad guys to creep across. There was a small, mud beach and enough trees to make personal moments a little more private; it was convenient and fairly secure. We dropped anchor and called this the spot for the night.

There was still plenty of light to see by when Brin and I took the dinghy over to the shore, Brin didn’t much like crapping on board and I didn’t blame him. We got him on shore twice a day, morning and night and he was happy. He still had his pee post up on deck and I was diligent in changing the clay out so it didn’t turn into a cesspool on us. Dried clay was easy to come by, plenty of pottery items didn’t survive the kiln, those broken pieces were usually reused but a certain amount was ground up for litter beds. Brin got to run up and down the cove shore a little while, chase a rabbit and relieve himself; that was Brin sorted for the evening. I got to walk around and stretch my legs a little and enjoy life without the sound of the steam engine clanging away in the background.

Thirty minutes on terra firma did a lot of good for a landlubber like myself. I don’t mind floating around on a boat or ship but am much more comfortable on dry ground. Supper was cooking when I returned and it was another of Aunty & Matilda’s specials - the difference now was we could actually cook it up properly on the squat little wood stove. We had a dutch oven and it worked just perfectly for the pot roast they had sent along in a large clay jar. The food was simply poured into the hot pan, then lidded and allowed to heat up. The surprise was when the two loaves of bread came up from the engine room! It turned out that a small steel box had been attached to the side of the fire box allowing it to serve as a rudimentary oven. I truly loved it when people showed adaptability.

I had been expecting travel rations; I assumed cold meat with cheese and bread like you’d find in a lunch box, eaten sitting on the deck in the cold. Instead I had a full, hot meal at a table in a cramped but warm room, full of the cream of our sailor crop. The first bite of delicious venison smothered in gravy was heavenly. The tender meat broke apart under my fork, spreading rich warmth with every bite. Chewing wasn’t absolutely necessary and yet with every chew additional flavor rolled out, lighting up different portions of your tongue. The root vegetables were very mashable, practically begging to be turned into a pile of smooshed potatoes with veggies.

Naturally I obliged and then spooned additional gravy out of the pot to fill my little potato volcano. I sent a tiny piece of bread crust sailing across the lake and then brutally attacked with my fork. It was a short battle and I was victorious and completely stuffed. I let Brin lick my plate before I washed my eating tools in the bucket provided and sat back down to enjoy a beer and some time with the boys.