Behind every great undertaking, there is a crime

[Andries]

His name was Andries.
 
He was a farmer, as his father before him, and his grandfather before him.
 
This land was his land. He had tilled it. He had sweated over it. He had, as much as he could, protected it. As his father before him, and his grandfather before him.
 
His wife was of this land. A daughter of a neighboring farm,  she knew the hardship of this life, accepted it, and persisted. Their 2 sons, now of age, helped with the farm chores, while the younger son and daughters learned literacy, numeracy, and other lessons from their parents, as it was. Schools, there were none, nor were there any hospitals. The law was what he said, and between neighbors, based on long-prevailing custom. There was little violence, for there was little of value to steal, but this land did have its rules.
 
He was a farmer, as his father before him, and his grandfather before him. This was a difficult life, but a fulfilling life, for there was no greater pride than man’s struggle with the soil, only to triumph with the growth of agriculture and to boast a suitable harvest, all through the sweat of his brow and the labor of his hands.
 
Though he had a humble home, this land was his land, and despite its lack of aesthetics, it was his castle. He did what he could to provide for his family. He did what he could to keep them safe.
 
And now, bandits had stolen his chickens.

[Andries]

It had happened in the dead of night.

With the sunset, they had dinner, then slept. When they awoke on the morn, the chickens were gone.

Like most families, they had a pet dog, a rather active fellow named Brutus. Yet he had not barked in the night. Or if he had, it had not been sufficient enough to rouse the family. Nor had they heard the neigh of horses, or a commotion in the night.

Like most individuals in this part of the world, they had the rudiments of self-defense. Andries had a rifle of dubious provenance, though he could truthfully say that it was a family heirloom, inherited by him from his father, who inherited it from his grandfather. He also had a handful of ammunition that would prove very lethal, for rust and bacteria could prove very damaging when introduced violently into human tissue. As for the young strapping men of his household, they were as able with the rake, pitchfork, and assorted blades and makeshift clubs any farm possessed, though they had some proficiency with their fists as well.

The crime had been discovered come the dawn. It was custom and tradition for one of the younger girls to fetch the eggs for breakfast; a portion was allotted to sell at market, the other, less worthy ones were utilized by the family for personal consumption. Needless to say, the family breakfast did not turn out as it should have. Not only had they lost a portion of their income, they had also lost significant assets, as the accountant in the nearby town would put it. No one in the family was the culprit, for such a crime, with a criminal amongst them, made little sense. That said, some vegetables from the garden and what remained of the harvested oats made for a hasty, less-tasty meal.

The rifle had been dusted off from the closest, but it saw no use. No tracks were visible, or if they were, the wind had aided in their escape.

Andries had let one of his children inform the neighboring farms. It was then agreed upon that they young men would take turns as an armed night watchman .

[Andries]

Life continued on the farm as before.

The sun rose, the sun set, but there was no sign of the bandits, and there was little to attract attention of the night watchman.

The loss of the chickens, however, lay heavily on the family, much more so than the loss of the potential revenue and of the daily breakfast of eggs.

Andries considered this, and so went about the neighboring farms, looking to see if there were any that he could purchase as replacements, and also to share the word of these bandits, that they may also prepare. They traded talk of weather, crops, family life, and they came to agree that these bandits were a menace to these parts, and that something should be done about them, but that they poor farmers had little, really. Agree to band together, however, they did, and agree to keep a watchful eye out for the bandits, they did, and further agree to spread word on anything useful, they would.

[Alexander-Jozef Oranje]

(I can't wait to read what is to come )

[Andries]

A month had passed since the theft.

Life continued as before. The sun rose, the sun set. The crops grew. The animals and plants thrived.

The family survived. A nearby farmhand got a farmer's young daughter pregnant, which was big news. Some distant relative of another died due to old age. He was buried under a tree, and those who could, went. Some words were said, and he was consigned to distant memory.

Talk in the neighboring farms was rife with respect to the identity of the bandits, but there was very little to go by. With the lack of a repeated offense, it was close to being consigned as part of local lore, to be told when the sky was dark and the fire was low. Each farm had posted a watchman, somewhat armed, but there was little disturbance to report.

As the days passed, there was much talk of wars abroad, of strange tales from elsewhere, of fallen nations and dead kings and queens and emperors, all concepts foreign to these people, who lived a rudimentary life and arrived at decisions on their own, and who had little use for grand people and even grander trinkets. Their life was the farm, and hard labor was their currency; their school, of even harder knocks and practicality. Theology and philosophy was decent talk under the stars, over the odd drink and tobacco smoke, which was rare for these parts. One of them had once had a taste of chocolate, a strange experience that was even stranger for the children. It was rather like hard butter and sweeter than cheese, which were concepts that the younger ones could relate to.

Life was simple and idyllic as it always was, until one terrible afternoon when another discovery was made.

[Alexander-Jozef Oranje]

(More! More! More! )