“That looks like one hell of a lot of work,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t realized how much work it was going to be.”
“Ah, it won’t be all that much,” Meller said. “This spot also has a couple of places where there are what looks like old logging roads. We can improve those and run trucks up them to dump onto the dam area for material. We’ll need a bunch of rock, various sizes, dirt in quantity and most important, some good impermeable clay.”
“There is clay where the Kildar wants to put in the rifle range,” Genadi said. “Lots of very tough clay. That is why it is pasture and not fields.”
“I’ll have to check the permeability,” Meller mused. “All clay is not golden.”
“What about electric?” Mike asked.
“Simple enough,” Meller said. “Set up a controllable culvert weir with a turbine. There are turbines like that you can get from GE or Siemens. Automatic diverter system, a condenser coil, some transformers and you’ve got power to the whole community. Enough, for sure, for the Keldara and the caravanserai. If you build up the turbines, you might have enough for Alerrso.”
“What do you need?” Mike asked. “That we don’t have.”
“Hmmm…” Meller hummed, rubbing his chin. “I don’t need anything until I get to the electric part. But the shovel and a dump truck would speed things up a lot. And a good concrete mixer. I’m going to need various numbers of people at different times. Oh, and lots of sand and lots of gravel, good gravel, rock and cement.”
“There is a gravel pit,” Genadi said, pointing up the southeast valley. “Up in here. From the Soviet days. We don’t have gravelling machinery. We can break it with hammers like we usually do, but…”
“We’ll get gravelling machinery,” Mike said. “And a small bulldozer for up there. Bigger than a Bobcat, but small.”
“Those rocks they’ve been picking,” Meller said. “Are they granite?”
“Mostly feldspar,” Genadi said. “Why?”
“Never mind,” Meller replied. “I was thinking we could gravel them, but not if they’re feldspar.”
“You’re losing me,” Mike said.
“Granite is what most of the mountains are made of,” Meller answered. “It’s really hard. There’s other rock in there, since these are folded mountains, but most of it is granite. Feldspar is softer.”
“There is some granite,” Genadi said.
“Not worth sorting out,” Meller replied. “Not if we have a gravel pit already. We should get that as soon as possible. Lots of uses for gravel. Some of these roads could really use gravelling.”
“For that we can even use the draft teams,” Genadi pointed out. “We haven’t had the heart to put them down, yet.”
“Don’t,” Mike said. “Don’t breed for them, anymore, not much. But don’t put them down. If I recall correctly, most of them are mine anyway. I’ll pick up the tab for keeping them.”
“They are expensive to feed in winter,” Genadi said, nervously.
“They’ll only last another, what? Ten years maximum?” Mike asked. “We’ll get by. And there will be occasional uses for them, like this. Oh, the oxen you can stall and feed up and we’ll slaughter. But not the horses. And not any of the oxen that people really think of as pets.”
“I don’t think anyone thinks of the oxen as pets,” Genadi said, darkly. “You have never had to deal with oxen.”
“Genadi, get one of the Keldara who is sharp at bargaining and finding things to help Meller find some gravelling equipment,” Mike said, nodding in thought. “Try to get used. This whole thing is costing like the dickens.”
After Meller and Genadi left in the latter’s Expedition, Mike drove over to one of the nearby fields where teams were slowly picking rocks.
“Kildar,” Father Makanee said as Mike pulled up. He was in there with everyone else, lifting the rocks from the black earth, but he stopped and came over to Mike’s vehicle, letting the rest get on with it. “It is good to see you. You are looking at the dam site?”
“Meller has an idea how we can get started early,” Mike said, watching the rock pickers for a minute. Even girls were out in the field, picking up small rocks, up to the size of a person’s head, while the men lifted the larger ones. They stayed behind the tail of the pickup, lifting them from the ground and throwing them in, where other men moved them forward to a growing pile. There was a wagon or two out as well, since there were more pickers than trucks. “We might have it in by midsummer, God willing.”
“That would be good,” the Keldara elder said. “What do you think?”
The total expanse of fields that would be plowed was evident with the snow gone. There was at least a thousand acres and Mike wondered how they ever could have plowed and seeded it all with only horse-drawn plows. One day at a time, he guessed.
“I think it’s going to be a good year,” Mike said, nodding, then getting out. “I’m not going to do this for long, but I think I should do it for a while.”
He could see Erkin, who wasn’t up to his full growth, struggling with a boulder that was trapped by heavy soil. Mike bent and pulled at it along with the teen until the rock broke free and then helped him heave it into the truck.
“Christ,” he said. “I can’t see doing this all day.”
“It is backbreaking,” Erkin said, shaking his head. “The worst chore of the farm. But even with the new plows, we have to pick the rocks.”
With rocks that weren’t so trapped, the pickers were working in a rhythm, some of them calling out a long series of syllables.
“What is that?” Mike asked Erkin as he bent to pick up another rock. It was at least seventy pounds and he could lift it easily, but he could see that this would get wearing after a very short time.
“The cry of the picker,” Erkin said, shrugging. “It is what we always chant. Ah Syllio!” he called, bending for another rock then: “Casentay!” as he heaved it in the truck. “Ah Syllio!” he repeated as he bent for another. “It is the cry of the spring. When we harvest, there is another cry.”
“But what does it mean?” Mike asked.
“Nothing,” one of the older men answered. “It is just what we chant. It makes the time go by.”
Mike couldn’t quite bring himself to join in, not all of the men were singing anyway, but he listened to it as he picked rocks and he found that the time did go by. The cry was hypnotic, sounding up from the fields in a regular rhythm as the chanters got in beat, echoing from the surrounding mountains.
He had just heaved a huge stone into the truck when Erkin waved at him as he bent.
“Time to break,” Erkin said, waving at an approaching cart. “The women bring beer and food.”
“I could eat,” Mike admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. The day was cool but he was sweating from the effort. He needed to get some of the trainers down here to learn what real work was. He was dogged by the hour or so he’d spent at this and the Keldara would be at it all day.
“You need to pace yourself,” the older Keldara told him. “If you tire, don’t dip with every cry. Work to your body’s pace, this is the only way to make it. And you don’t lift well; use less back.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mike said, grinning. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”