End of Winter, Guto River Crossing; A Journey is a collection of hoofsteps, one after the other

~~Dear- Lovely-~~

Dearest Journal,

I suppose I should begin by stating clearly at the start that I am no pony, as the Sisters would call their subjects- a pony is rigorously defined in literal fashion as anypony who is fourteen hooves or below; I am, at my withers, very nearly nineteen hooves. Thus, I am more properly defined as a horse- note the lack of prevailing ‘w’! Still, I am a pony, though not of Equestria- I soon hope to change that, but... for now, it is good that my winter coat is so very thick, and I'm not further along than a month and a half or so.

Particularly, I am (really, my entire clan is,) what is called a Coldblood, or Draft. This means that, well aside from my stature, I am- despite being a mare, and quite beautiful I might add- known for a number of things. Firstly, and perhaps most importantly for any descendants reading this journal, Coldbloods tend to steady any line we’re introduced to- indeed, Saddle Arabians in particular have been known to seek out a prospective mate from the colder north, my homeland, when their bloodlines- which they keep rigorous track of- become too crossed and fractious. A coldblood can be any of the three tribes- unicorn, pegasus, or earth pony; what is true of all coldbloods is that we are generally large, much larger than the average pony. We tend to be heavily muscular- not in a grotesque or ugly way, merely that we tend to be strong in our bodies. Our hooves are large; our patience is long.

My name, Journal, is Meadow Surprise. I am a bay, with a harsh red sheen to my mane and tail. I do not currently wear shoes of any kind, and though I had some misgivings at the beginning of the journey, I must say that not needing any of the files or clippers to keep my hooves in proper order is a great relief, and a great savings on weight in my cart.

The Surprise clan is mostly earth ponies, with branches all over the known and unknown world- indeed, our clan is so very large that we have entire groups of families that have never actually exchanged greeting letters, much less introduced themselves to each other in person. The mare-clan, Surprise, splits into the Coffyns and the Spades; then the Coffyns became Pies, and the Spades became Tricks. It's fairly rare to have the 'Surprise' still inside, these days- but I didn't feel comfortable with any of the other names I could have taken, and I refused the name thrust on't me...

I have left my home of Trottingham some six weeks past, and have been steadily making my way south. I have in my possession a cart, which I have been using as a base for a lean-to as I travel; it holds my entire business, as well as my personal possessions, and my beehives. One cannot, of course, keep bees as pets- then again, they are not entirely wild creatures either, not so long as I’ve had them.
I also have in my possession a very important pair of letters: the first being a letter of introduction to Cloudy Quartz, one of my Aunt Zipper's only remaining family- and the second being a letter of introduction to her niece, Pinkie Pie. Both letters detail the particulars of my situation, I assume; though, quite frankly, my situation will reveal itself in the coming year.
Tristan was- is(?)- a very large stallion, a half-hoof taller than I, and... I am a large mare, and he's a large stallion, and the foal in my belly will be a very large foal if I've got any sense for surprises...

I suppose my beekeeping started with my cutie mark- I had been watching a swarm of bees turn the hollow trunk of a tree in the overgrown back of our yard into their hive, and it was fascinating. Each day I would spend a good hour or longer observing- and it seemed to me that each hexagonal cell of beeswax was marked in a this-or-that fashion. Slowly, slowly, I gained a sense of the purpose of the bees- how each cell was marked out for a specific use, and how each level of the hive had its own purpose. I was also learning to knit, at the time- and then one day, almost as if in a dream, I turned my head and found my mark.
It's not for keeping bees; and it's not for knitting. Because, you see, what I actually did was write out instructions- how to understand what bees were saying when they did their graceful curving dances, how to knit something I'd only ever seen... I've only been refining my ability to Create Instructions ever since.

My cutie mark is two balls of black and yellow self-striping yarn, one larger than the other; in the smaller ball, there are two knitting needles stuck in a bit like antenna; and on either side of the pair of yarn balls, a single hexagon of bright yellow. It looks rather like a honey bee, though one made of knitting supplies and abstract shapes… Or, if you've the technical knowledge, it looks like a rather fanciful knitting pattern, written down visually instead of in shorthand.

Well. On that day, I discovered two things- firstly, that I had several small, seemingly disparate knacks for a few things, that being: making soft goods, such as knitwear, lace, or cuddle buddies; making cheese; making pickles; and keeping bees. There are some things made easier by the horn upon my head; and there are some things that simply must be done by hoof, not because there’s not a spell to do the job- or even because I can’t do the spell, I certainly can- but rather… there is a quality to an object that cannot be replicated by spell. There are instructions a spell is simply not smart enough to interpret; and…

Here, let me explain.

Knitting instructions and spell matrixes are basically the same thing. A knitting instruction, after all, is the written instructions of how one goes about making a certain piece. There is usually a picture or description of what kind of thing should be left behind, provided all the instructions are followed correctly, and all the necessary basic properties of a good knitted object are present. Similarly, a spell matrix is the written- or physicalized- instruction of how a spell is to be cast. Most spells come with a description or warning about it’s use, thus allowing the forward thinker to divine the purpose and method of the spell in question- intention, is the word I was looking for.

Knitting something and casting a spell are both matters of intent. It need not be a powerful intent- keeping warm in the cold, a light in the darkness… I find that the simpler solution is often better. I could cast a heating spell to keep warm- or I could take the time to knit myself a fine set of legwarmers, and a heavy shawl, and a scarf, and a hat that I can tie around my throat. I could cast a mage light; or I could light a candle.

Then again, I suppose the devil is truly in the details- there are times when clothing is not practical, but a spell is; times when a flame is a terrible, irresponsible danger- but a tiny firefly of mage-light is not.

Ah, I suppose I should explain the actual- right. Well. I have been banished from my clan lands in Trottingham; and I am now making my way to Equestria, in hope of a better life for myself and the one(s?) soon to be in my care. To start with, I aim to get to the Griffonstone Bridge, where, if all goes well, I will cross and enter the very edge of Equestrian territory. If I have enough money left over, I shall get a ticket to the farthest interior of that pleasant country I can- but I doubt it will be so easy.

The light is fading; and my quill is less than sharp. I shall write again when I am in more stable accommodations.

Best Love, MS

Crossed the River, First Day of Spring; Bebotherance and Condemnation to Greedy Griffons!

Well, Journal, my worry was well founded- crossing the Griffonstone Bridge from the Griffon side was an exercise in politic and frustration. I suppose it’s really my fault- I did not expect such high tolls for crossing a bridge, nor the need for bribes. Even so, I only now have enough bits to go to the Crystal Empire or Vanhoover without crunching into my savings and fresh-start monies.

Bah! Enough of this pity party!

I am currently resting in a very fine traveler’s stable, with my cart as is proper. Across the walk, there seems to be some sort of altercation- I am quite pleased and sure of the runic protections laid into the bones of the stable, so feel no worry leaving my cart be and sticking my nose in where it isn’t wanted.

Ah, Journal, I am glad I had a look! I never could stand for anyone being mistreated for something they’ve no control over- one cannot control their tribe, nor their coloration, nor even if they be a zebra or otherwise.

Taffeta Dracule- though she prefers Taffy- is a zebra, one of the Travelers I do believe, though I would need to put my glasses on and double check the stitching on her saddlebags to be sure. She stands at the average fourteen hooves, and has a curious dun tinge to her stripes. There is something distinctly wiggly or snake-like concerning her cute stamp- like a snake with wings, wrapped around a stick, I think. Odd, but no more than my own cutie mark- as for the mare herself, once well away from her tormentors- who I will not describe more than boorish, cowardly, and entirely too sure of their strength when with their fellows (a sure sign of a coward)- she is proving to be a kind and gregarious soul.

She has not been off-put by my taciturn nature, nor my resting expression (which has often been compared to a scowl). Indeed, after enjoying a fine dinner of oats, sorghum, barley stalks and dandelion leaves, (with a sprinkle of my own necessary supplements), we have decided to be traveling partners for as long as our roads intersect. We have also decided, after I voiced my lack of bits and general concerns, to go to Vanhoover, not the Crystal Empire direct- and, as it turns out, Taffy is a doctor. Specifically, she is a midwife, learning how other cultures and other bodies go about the business of birth.

Quite frankly, I am put greatly at ease having her along.

It’s getting late, Journal; I’ll write again soon.

Best love; MS

Twenty First of March; Pegacast for Slightly Cloudy, no scheduled rain

Dearest Journal,

Taffy is a Traveler! What fantastic luck! Further, she has several coupons for our journey ahead- and has agreed to pool her bits with mine, that we may make them stretch farther. (Just a note, Journal- Travelers are Zebras who leave Zebrica to explore the world, broadening their knowledge and mastery of a particular subject, art, or science. They have flowers, vines, and medicinal herbs embroidered into the carrying straps of their saddlebags as a good luck charm; Taffy’s are fern, ivy, dandelion, and willow, with flowers of pea, rose, and lily.)

Our itinerary is as follows; we will board the Mail and Freight leaving Griffonstone Station at Three-thirty AM for the Crystal Empire, where we will have approximately twelve hours of layover; then, we will board the Sparkling Continental from the Empire to Cloudsdale Station, where we will connect with the Vanhoover Limited (Canterlot to Vanhoover round-trip daily), thus getting us to Vanhoover.

Apparently, Taffy’s older brother, Hawkeye, works in the Vanhoover General Hospital as a surgeon, quite the necessary occupation to have on hand for the seaweed farmers I’m informed.

Taffy says that Hawkeye is much kinder than he appears, and will let us stay with him for a good three months- at which time, with luck, we both will have had a chance to make some good money, and will be able to continue into Equestria.

-I’ll continue my musings later, Journal, I’ve got to help the porters load my cart onto the train-

Best Love, MS

It’s Still March; Ugh

Journal, Railcars do not agree with me. Taffy is very concerned- she says that she can find a remedy for me in the Crystal Empire, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll be walking to Vanhoover. Apparently, being absolutely sick to one’s stomach is no fair exchange for convenience- and I seem to have made a fast friend in Taffy, as she absolutely stomped my queasy objections flat. I at least managed to talk her into going as far as Cloudsdale- walking from the Empire to Vanhoover would surely be a deadly enterprise.

I've no desire to foal on the road, no matter what my ancestors put up with; they did so out of necessity, not desire.
I’ve been resting for a good hour now in the nice sunlight, on the blessedly firm and unmoving ground; Taffy saw to my cart’s resettling on a different freight car, and scolded the porters into helping me off the train car and into this park where I’m resting now. She’s gone to get me something to settle my stomach, and has decided to spend our layover making a remedy for my motion sickness- and here she is now.

Goodness, but what a difference a hot infusion of herbs and spices can make in one’s lookout! I’ve left my saddlebags with Taffy; she was quite insistent that I do my best to stick to my original itinerary, and that she did not need my presence to make a proper cure. Fair enough- on to the wonders of the Crystal Capital!

Hearthstone City is a wondrous place, a shining beacon of warmth and light for all. The Crystal Ponies are glimmering and delightful- even my duller colors seem mysterious and grand in the gleam of the crystal wash. I have seen innumerable wonderments, and am filled with delight- aha!

My first stop on this layover, a dye and knitting shop- I walk away, saddlebags heavy with dry dyes of fantastic color and vibrancy, new skeins of wool, and a fine selection of buttons. Some are simple colors; others, magical in nature, adding a touch of crystalline sheen to this or that. Some are additives; beads, notions, clasps, books and instructional scrolls… and now, for the souvenirs.
I have had it as a habit since my very smallest youth, that any place I go- excepting, of course, the great outdoors- I will take some small things as souvenirs. A number of things catch my eye, the first being a delightful garden of crystal succulents- and, after some inquiry, I walk away with a small portable garden that will keep is beautiful crystalline shape and coloration well outside the Empire, provided I feed it the appropriate mixture of gem shards (a small pouch of which I bought, and the ratio of mixture and feeding schedule is included as well).

I have already begun collecting jewelry for my child- my clan, every member of my clan, has some habit of collecting rocks (rock candy is still rocks), but I, in particular, collect rock-adorned hairpins. I, personally, have a collection of over a thousand unique hair pins- and for my child, I have decided to collect combs, as I want the pins too much to share- and so, I will get my child something of their own, and for myself, pins!

I bought a hair pick , and I’m not sure why- it’s a lovely piece, made of wood and soft on my lips, but... Well, perhaps Taffy will like it? Her mane is long, and I’ve noticed her irritation when it gets in her eyes… And if I buy a small grab bag of blank crystal shards, and I use my graver’s tools, I can put a small spell into the pick- nothing fancy, mind, just a simple set of nested spells to clean, style, and bind her hair up into… well, considering the pick itself, I can get away with four styles total. I’ll have to discuss which styles with Taffy, but that shouldn’t be too bothersome, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t work… so that’s sorted, then.

I bought a mane comb, but… I’ve no idea who for. Perhaps a friend I haven’t met, yet- it is a fierce looking thing, yet stark and plain. I understand why no one bought it before me; there’s a certain harsh quality to it that some ponies would find off putting. I, personally, found it rather refreshing- like the first bath of spring in the stream after a long, mucky winter… Ah, I’ve made myself sad.
For my foal, a silver and crystal mane comb with pink and white daisies adorning it. Cute; unisex; and sturdy enough to be a foal’s mane comb for generations.
For myself, a set of twenty crystal and pearl mane pins , obviously meant for someone’s wedding- but at that price, the wedding must not have come to be. A shame for them that ordered them; a bargain for me that bought them! The salesmare was so pleased to move the stock, she threw in a pair of shawl pins for good fortune.
And finally, for us both- a crystal suncatcher with a series of nested spells meant to create a formless sort of music. I think we both(?) could benefit from such a thing; and the spells make slightly different music each time, so it shouldn’t ever get boring… and in the sun, it scatters a multitude of rainbows and glimmers, so even if the music doesn’t help, it will be nice to look at.

I must say, a walk through the capital of the Crystal Kingdom did me a wondrous good. Taffy’s remedy served to settle my stomach further- and, after a fine repast, we boarded the train for Cloudsdale in high spirits.
I shall inform you of the efficacy of the remedy soon enough, Journal.

Best Love; MS

On the Train to Cloudsdale Station, Five Days in One Entry

Dearest Journal,

Taffy’s remedy worked a treat, and we’ve been on the train to Cloudsdale for a good twelve hours or so- the whole night, praise Luna, though I will say that the bed was both lumpy and small.

It will be quite a while until our first stop, in the Unicorn Mountains- it gives everyone a chance to stretch their legs, as well as repair anything needful of repairing. I, myself, am repairing something- really, considering it’s state, I’m actually making an entirely new one.
My Aunt Ravel and her special marefriend, Zipper, are the ones who helped me leave Trottingham after the- This pattern is my Aunt Ravel’s, and I’m making a new one as a comfort for myself. Aunt Ravel and Auntie Zipper gave me a plaque for my studio, wherever I end up settling down- it’s a simple bit of cross-stitching on a wooden frame, meant for hanging on the wall.

It says:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain.
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin,
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

My Aunts wish me, and my foal-to-come, a better life than could be found for us in Trottingham. My Aunts have not lived their lives in vain- and so, I can only hope that I won’t either. I do wish I knew how to find Tristan- or even where to begin looking for him... it seems wrong to me, to leave him out of such an important undertaking as this; alas, I have no other option. I am not yet an Equestrian, and so I cannot write to his CO or Army Company and enquire, not legally and expect a prompt reply; I do not know his full name, and so cannot address a letter to him and mail it and put my faith in the Mail Ponies; what I have of him is not enough for a tracking spell, it just rebounds to my belly.

My conundrum is both frustrating and a bit absurd- making a new shawl out of the old shawl pattern, however, is not. The original shawl pattern was pony sized, at seven hooves long by sixteen and a half wide; that is, pony hooves. My hooves are several times bigger than that- but the proportions of the shawl will be correct if I modify it properly.

The exact gauge of the yarn used is not critical, but it works best with a one-hoof, or ten centimeter, gauge. The finished fabric ought to be light and airy; use a mohair yarn, or any of the pegasus yarns, to give it a cloudy, light, and fluttery frog. This is a fairly easy pattern, requiring one skein of appropriate yarn, measuring to a length of (three hoofs a leg; three legs a yard) two hundred eighteen yards at one hundred grams per skein- or, in my case, as my hooves are three times the size of an average pony, you must triple the amount of yarn, and expand the pattern.

I will be using three skeins of self ombreing seventy percent mohair, twenty six percent wool, and four percent silk, or six hundred fifty four yards of one color yarn in that distribution of fibers, at one hundred grams per skein.
I am using size fifteen circular needles, at least two hooves long- and yes, they are sized lengthwise to my hooves, the size chart of needles refers to it’s gauge, or width around.

I will write out the instructions as I have them written, and then elaborate on their meaning.

CO 7 sts.

Garter:
Row 1: K2, yo, ktend (8sts)
Mark RS with pin.
Repeat until half yarn used; end after working a WS row.

Eyelets:
Row 1(RS): K2, yo, k1, (yo, k2tog) to last 3 sts, k3.
Do not worry about extra plain stitches at end of row before last 3sts; just knit.
Rows 2, 3, and 4 : K2, yo, knit to end of row.
Repeat 1 - 4 until twelve yards of yarn remain. End after plain row.
(If preferred, switch to plain garter stitch in center after working five or six eyelet rows for solid border at top edge of shawl.)
BO loosely; weave in ends.
Shawl does not need to be blocked; wash and lay flat to dry if needful.

In elaboration:

Cast on seven stitches.

For the garter portion of the piece:

Knit two, yarn over, knit to end (it should be eight stitches).
Mark the Right Side with a pin.
Repeat the first two steps until half your yarn is used; end after working a Wrong Side row.

For the eyelet portion of the piece:

For the first row, knit two, yarn over, knit one, yarn over, knit two together to last three stitches, knit three. This pattern is fairly forgiving; extra stitches at this point will not matter in the completed piece. Simply knit two together, or knit until you come to the last three stitches, and follow instructions from there
For rows two, three, and four, knit two, yarn over, knit to end of row.
Repeat the four rows in order until about twelve yards of yarn remain. End this section on a plain row of stitching.
Bind off loosely; weave in ends with appropriate crochet hook or needle.

Blocking not necessary for this piece; wash and lay flat to dry if needful.

Blocking is the process of stretching a knitted or crochet piece, allowing it to take it’s actual shape and revealing the stitch pattern. I chose to make this piece on the train because it doesn’t require blocking; there’s no room for it on the train anyway.

As for the fact that the above pattern is sized for a pony, not a horse, that’s where resizing comes in.

Firstly, one must swatch the pattern with their yarn of choice to see how the fabric will behave once made. It’s a very important step in any knitting project; any time you start a new pattern, use a new yarn, or break in new equipment, it’s always best to do a swatch. Arithmetic can only take you so far; actually having something knitted in your hooves will tell you more about what can and can’t be done with your knitting or crochet pattern than anything else. It will tell you if you need to wash and block; it will tell you if you need to adjust your gauge, or even if your skills aren’t there yet.

I recommend swatching at least a hoof’s worth of fabric for an accurate measurement. Once you are satisfied with your swatch’s feel on your frog, you need to figure the number of stitches per row you will need. You do this by counting how many stitches per row you have in your one hoof swatch.

I cannot, for the life of me, write this out- I’ve never been able to. I can explain it in pony; I can demonstrate it. I can even walk somepony else through it, if need be- but I cannot, for the life of me, write it out. I’ve just done it too many times; I don’t remember how to write it in words.

Frankly speaking, knitting and crochet aren’t things to learn from books- you have to do them to understand what’s happening.

However, I have managed to finish my new shawl , and just in time- we’ve stopped in the Unicorn Mountains for an engine switch, and the weather without is brisk! My new shawl pins and shawl prove their muster immediately, in the sharp gusts of wind. Taffy, poor mare, shudders with every gust, until I placed my hefty self between her and the prevailing- this seemed to work quite well. A purchase of hot apple cider for both of us kept us in high spirits while the engines were switched; and I was able to purchase a new almanac for the year, with broad weather forecasts for the wide country of Equestria, and the climate notes for each major city- oouf!

If I’m reading the almanac correctly, the weather is going to be worse in Cloudsdale Station- I’ve been before, and it’s always foggy and cold there, excepting around the Summer Sun. Hm. And it’s going to be worse still in Vanhoover- it sleets there nearly every day, when it’s not foggy or windy. Oh, yes, I bought a tourist guide for Vanhoover for Taffy- she seemed curious, and then very apprehensive as she read more of it on our next few days of travel. I, myself, purchased a Cloudsdale Station guide for myself- we traded them after reading, thus avoiding buying two of the same book.
One of the many perks of having friends.

I busied myself thusly, during our ride south: I took measurements of her legs, from knee to pastern, measured her barrel and chest… I even got Taffy to pick out a manestyle she likes from my stylebook, so I could start on her manepick.

As for her other measurements, after deciding on a pale undyed wool, I began work on a set of warming garments for her- an infinity cowl , a shawl much like mine, and a set of four leg warmers that button up the side to obviously separate them from the lingerie styles of socks, which cover the hoof and go up to the elbow and stifle, front and back… Perhaps she’d like a hat as well? A chullo, I think; and I’ll make another cowl for her brother, and a hat as well.

According to Taffy, her brother Hawkeye is a good two hooves taller than her; that’s enough for me to make a judgement about how to resize the pattern. Taffy actually has a set of pins for a shawl and scarf or collar- a gift from her brother last Hearthwarming; she’s just been putting off getting things to actually put those pins on, as she didn’t need them.

Silly mare; still, it’s always nice to have another project to work on while I’m waiting.

I don’t mind setting certain things to stitch with a spell; cowls and leg warmers are basically rectangles, and those can be woven by spell just fine. It’s just telling a mage hoof to repeat a certain series of actions a set number of times- nothing I can’t do by hoof, but I need to begin working on the manepick.

Nested spell manepicks used to be commonplace during the Three Tribes era, but after the Unification, they fell out of favor as Unicorns began adopting Earth Pony and Pegasi methods of mane care.

There are three basic spells that go into a mane pick; a spell to clean and condition the mane, a spell to detangle and section the mane, and a spell to style it. I’m etching the spell matrix for each spell into a discrete set of gem shards, and carefully inlaying them in the smooth wood of the manepick.

First, the cleaning and conditioning spell in shards of turquoise, as both stone and spell fall under the school of health; second, the detangling and sectioning spell in shards of carnelian which isn’t as good as amethyst but the look of the manepick has just as much importance as it’s effectiveness- and further, zebra manes tend to self section along the stripes. Both stone and spell fall under the school of peace, by the by…

As for the third, the styling spell itself in a combination of citrine, aventurine, and moonstone- the first two for just her mane, the last for the mind underneath it. Combined, stone and spell fall under the school of wonder.

Tie off the loose ends of every spell you cast; never, ever, leave them open.

I presented Taffy her new set of garments, as well as her mane pick, at breakfast today. She was overjoyed to receive them; apparently, she budgeted for traveling, food, accommodations, and medical supplies- all of which are totally necessary for a mare traveling alone. She did not, however, budget for clothing. Me giving her warmer garments was a huge relief to her- she hadn’t been able to save enough money to commission or purchase a set and keep up with her itinerary.

I do enjoy doing things for others, especially when it’s needful; ah, Journal, we’re pulling in to Cloudsdale station for a two-day layover.

Best Love; Meadow Surprise

Cloudsdale Station, Early Spring; Day Trip to the Ruins of Delphi

Dearest Journal,

Taffy and I took accommodations in Cloudsdale Station when our train from the Crystal Empire finally arrived, well after sunset. We had agreed during the ride down that we would take the opportunity to go on a day trip to the famous Ruins of Delphi, where the pegasus poet Delphinus Wake used to perform plays and poems that are still performed today.

Cloudsdale is often considered to be the oldest of all pegasi cities, chiefly because while it’s skybound portion is still in full use, it’s land based districts are all given over to farmland, woods, and ruins. It’s mostly tourists like myself and Taffy who go and explore them- as most pegasi, sorry to repeat a stereotype- but most pegasi have little lasting interest in affairs on the ground. Why should they? They’ve wings, and all pegasi can manipulate the weather… saa, I’ve gotten off track.

Day tours through the Ruins of Delphi cost about eighty bits a pony; the high price is due to two things. Firstly, the tour provides trail shoes, which are not cheap to replace and someone will always either lose or ruin one, even if they’re my size; and secondly, they provide a full meal for something like thirty ponies, which doesn’t include the tour guides. I’m not so far along that I can’t go on the walking trail, and Taffy is very excited to see a Tourist Attraction.

However, before we went on the Ruin trail-tour, we went to the museum.

The Archaeological Museum and Library of Delphi shelters an extensive collection of artifacts- scrolls under careful preservation spells, ancient pegasi weapons, and astonishing objects, from urns to votives. All the items in the museum and library were unearthed during excavations at the Delphi Ruins, it’s vicinity, or were donated by local families seeking to preserve and share their legacy with others. It’s located on the Station side of Cloud’s Hillock, adjacent to the archaeological site, on the modern side of the little train-stop town.

The ‘Equestria Must See’ guidebook my Aunt Zipper gave me lists it as one of the top must-see museums in Equestria, mainly because of the breadth and quality of artifacts it includes. The permanent exhibition alone covers over a thousand years of art and upheaval, from the ancient Musteri Era to the Hurricane Renaissance.

Taffy and I spent a good three hours on our feet, wandering through the museum while it was open, admiring the ancient artwork of the pegasus tribe. Then, we went to the gift shop, for souvenirs! Well, the shop had the usual items- totes, quills, ink pots, posters; but, having read Aunt Zipper’s margin notes on the Ruins of Delphi, I plumped for a pair of mare’s sun hats- a cute one for Taffy, and a very broad one for myself; the touristy part about them was, of course, the styling, which was in ancient pegasus tribe fashion… or sweetgrass country fashion, as there are only so many shapes that fit well on a pony’s head and shade their face from Celestia’s sun. I also bought us both over the neck water bottle holders, and the medium size bottle of water which are, according to Aunt Zipper, large enough to be worth carrying but not so large as to make carrying them a nuisance.

Aunt Ravel’s margin notes were about the most iconic Delphi souvenirs- our sun hats, for one; blue eye protective jewelry, believed by pegasi since ancient times to ward off windigos; a string of komboloi , more commonly known as worry-beads- Aunt Ravel wrote that nothing else held a chill-spell better for a teething foal, and that the strings only break when the one who wears them daily dies. Grim, but good to know; the last two items are actually three items- a Build Your Own Weather kit, and there’s a child’s version and an adult’s version; and a free catalogue for getting refills and other Weather Factory products, and I bought an adult’s version and the catalogue because it’s free- and finally, Pegasi folk art reproductions, and reproductions of famous objects d’art.

I bought, in order, our sun hats; a blue eye suncatcher for myself and a cuff bracelet for Taffy; a set of turquoise worry beads ; a Weather Factory approved Build Your Own Weather Kit for adults; and a big yarn bowl with it’s own lid .

After our quick exploration of the Delphi Museum, which keeps the strangest hours I’ve ever had the misfortune of reading, Taffy and I joined our tour group and enjoyed a long, leg-stretching walk through the Ruins of Delphi.

It’s best to pace yourself, visiting a place like Cloudy Hill. It’s the site of an ancient city, ruined, true- but, if you give yourself time to really take in the scale of the ruins, if you let yourself absorb the wonders around you… well, once I got Taffy to slow down and just look, to see , her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped- because she could see it too.

The shadow of the ancient city of Delphi, rising above the quiet hills and valleys in the sunny lee of Cloudsdale; the echo of poetry and plays in an amphitheater, sunk into the good earth and o’ergrown with weeds; the ringing majesty of the winding vistas where wildflowers grew over bloody fields…

As it happens, Taffy has a camera- it’s one of her only just for fun expenses, getting film and having it developed whenever she stays in one place long enough. She and I took a series of beaming photographs of every beautiful site we saw; ruined columns, echoing hills and valleys, glad-hearted forests and winding trails up towering hillsides.

We lunched on alfalfa sprouts, wildflower blossoms, soaked beet pulp, rice bran, and garlic blossoms. Hearty fare, and good for sensitive stomachs; and then we had a long wander back to the station, Taffy and I, enjoying the cool yet bright day.

We slept again at the station, quite well worked from our lovely excursion; and then we boarded the train again for Vanhoover.

Best Love, Meadow Surprise

Vanhoover; Are you sure it’s still spring? It doesn’t feel like spring,

Dearest Journal,

Not much of note happened on the ride to Vanhoover, aside from a steady increase in dreary skies and stoicism in our passengers. Taffy took to wearing her legwarmers as soon as we get back across the Unicorn Mountains, and added her cowl when it began raining; by the time we actually got to Vanhoover, she’d added the shawl, and the hat I’d finished knitting for her.

I myself was well pleased with my shawl and not much else; and, once I retrieved my cart from the porters, I followed Taffy who herself was following a carefully marked map of the city.

Vanhoover sits on the west coast of Equestria. It’s the largest city in the county and, as a result of it’s coastal location, is a very important port. It’s climate is incredibly unpredictable by Equestrian standards; dreary weather is always on the verge of returning, and the wind here likes to play tricks.

It’s a popular city to live in because of it’s very mild winters- something about proximity to the oceans and the Unicorn Mountain Range blocking cold fronts from the city… Snow only falls on average, eleven days in Vanhoover; it rains and fogs much more often, so much so that the Weather Crews here put out percentage warnings rather than hard weather options. They always make an effort to keep the summers dry, sunny, and reasonably warm- especially as the Summer Sun approaches. It’s also usually warm enough for any sort of costume come Nightmare Night. Historically an Earth Pony city, Vanhoover is still mostly earth ponies- that’s usually what you’ll see on the street, alongside innumerable immigrants- camels, sphinxes, zebras, cows, sheep, goats, boars, yaks, and so on. There’s always work here for someone of strong disposition; so, this is a popular city for immigrants from Saddle Arabia, Yakistan, and even Minoa- all of which have native populations of equines, alongside their more foreign natives.

I’d happily stay here if it didn’t remind me so strongly of Trottingham.

Ah, Taffy soon took us through a side street into one of the many villages that Vanhoover swallowed as it grew; until, at last, we came to a fine townhouse. Taffy went up and met her brother- and then, the two of them helped me secure my cart in the carriage house built into the side of the townhouse.

Hawkeye Dracule is a zebra of different stripe than his sister, Taffeta- and I do mean that literally, no Zebra has the same stripe pattern as another. I also mean that metaphorically, as it takes a very particular kind of pony to be a surgeon- not a magisurgeon, a surgeon , as many of the unicorn magic based spells work as advertised on ponies but not other equines, even, much less those such as camels, yaks, and so on.

His job is to cut somepony open, fix whatever’s gone wrong, and then close them back up again. His specialty is tummies- he knows more about the digestive system of any creature on four legs (or two) you care to name than he knows about current events.

Point of fact, the only thing he knows anything like his trade is music- apparently, the doctors and nurses and surgeons in the operating room play records while they work.

He liked the cowl and hat I made him; apparently, it’s always in danger of being dreary in Vanhoover, and having a nice warm cowl-and-hat set at the ready is very good. He said he hasn’t had time, what with his working hours, to go get a set for himself- so me giving him a set as a gift…

It’s getting late, Journal; I’ll write more tomorrow.

Best Love, Meadow Surprise

Vanhoover; Oh, it’s actually very nice out right now

Dearest Journal,

Vanhoover is far too expensive for my taste. It’s a large metropolitan city, the most welcoming of all Equestria’s cities- but… the downtown core is large, and offers an affluent arts scene, diverse foods, and innumerable sporting events.

It’s bounded by ocean and mountains that result in a moderate climate, allowing outdoor recreation year round.

The housing market in Vanhoover is the fastest paced in the country, and crime rates are higher than nearly anywhere else.

Hawkeye owns his house outright- and the only reason he can do that, Journal, is he’s a very busy, very good surgeon who works two hundred and sixty five out of three hundred sixty five days in the year. He doesn’t take vacations except the mandatory ones; he doesn’t get sick; and, were it not for his best friend, Longshanks Rojomane, and his marefriend, Heron Vondergeist, he would spend every off hour he has either sleeping or puttering around in his house.

According to him, the city has grown twice, noticeably, since he’s lived in it- and he’s lived here for fifteen years. -Oh, yes, this year he told us that Winter Wrap Up was late, something about a Weather Team strike… and if what we entered the city in under, a wet miserable sky and gloomy light… if that’s every winter…

I can’t stand it.

All the positives you can think of for living somewhere don’t matter if you don’t like it- if the rhythm of the place, it’s mood, do not agree with yours, then nothing- not even the presence of your family or a job or a school or an opportunity, can make you happy if you stay. I’ve spent far too much of my life grey and miserable to live somewhere grey and miserable, not permanently at least.

Enough of that- let’s see, I have not yet written about my cart yet. It isn’t a particularly good one- and it’s one of the things I actually set aside a significant portion of my savings to upgrade. Vanhoover, aside from being a metropolis, is one of the few cities where one can get nearly anything built to spec. I came to Equestria with what is, frankly speaking, a covered wagon- good enough for Trottingham, but as I will be spending a great deal of time on the road soon, I need something better.

I actually really like Hawkeye’s vardo, a stately and well cared for bowtop vanwain with crisp purple and magenta paisley designs painted on its sides, and cheery minty-green flowers around the door. Hawkeye let me borrow one of his books from Zebrica- it’s a book all about Traveler’s vanwains, and I’m truly grateful for his generosity.

The Zebrish vardo has evolved into one of the most advanced forms of travelling wagons; they’re prized for their practicality as well as their aesthetic design and beauty. There is no more iconic or recognizable Zebrish symbol than a highly decorated vardo- excepting perhaps their masks, or the habit of their shamans to speak in rhyming couplets.

A vardo is typically commissioned by families in lieu of a cutiecinera, by a newly risen master of a craft, or by a newlywed couple, from specialist coach builders. Building a vardo properly takes about three to six months, using a variety of woods- including oak, ash, elm, cedar, and pine. Vardos are prized by all equine travelers for their overall design and beauty, as well as their practicality. The general design of all vardos evolved over time and were named after the home’s owners, for their traditional style (Ledge), for the town of its construction (Reading), or for the name of the builder.

There are six design types . They are known by various names, but are perhaps best called the Reading, the Ledge, the Bowtop, the Brush, the Burton, and the Open-lot.

Bowtop vanwains are typically pulled by Zebrish Travelers, or by anypony lucky enough to be given the van upon the Zebra’s decision to put down roots; they’re the most iconic, and I’m least interested in them. There’s the Brush, which is nearly extinct now- often used by brush, broom, rush, and wickerwork makers; the Burton, which is often seen in circastics or with travelling showponies; and, the most modern of them, the Open-lot.

Being individually built by vanwrights, no matter their origin, no two vans are exactly alike. They vary according to use intended, customer requirements, available funds, materials used, skill and location of builder, and the time period- even the time of year the van is built plays a role. With that said, all vardos have certain exterior features in common, and with few exceptions the interiors conform to a set plan or layout. Thus, though there are many kinds of vans, the Zebrish vardo is always one-roomed on four high wheels, with a doorway (possibly with a door in it) and moveable steps in front (the Brush-style vardo being the only exception), sash windows, a rack called the cratch, and a pan-box at the rear. Only minor variations in design occurred after the Unification, with the exception of the Open-lot which was built in response to a general lessening of pegasi-xenophobia and a rise in inter-tribal marriages. Homemade vanwains, literal ‘peg-knife wagons’ tend to be along the same lines as the professionally built wagons, because the general design of the average vardo is just so perfect for what generally gets asked of it.

It’s also not uncommon for a traveler using the vardo to add or remove features of an old wagon, remount a body on underworks other than its own, or replace unsound wheels by ones that differ in weight, size, or structure from the original, thus altering the proportions.

Hawkeye actually had to go back to work about our second week into staying with him- apparently, he’s a bit of a workaholic. To be fair, most doctors- good ones, I’d say- are. Therefore, Taffy was the one to show me the interior of her brother’s vardo.

It actually belonged to their parents, who were lost at sea; they died right around the big shift in Zebrican culture that allowed orphans the option of keeping some of their parents larger possessions, rather than burning them all up as was custom.

Before I go into specifics, I must mention that neither Taffy nor her brother Hawkeye are particularly special, as zebras go; their parents were humble pots-and-pans sales and repair ponies, and their vardo was a pot-cart before Taffy went off to school. The only repair Hawkeye’s had done on it, according to Taffy, is fixing a few broken pieces of decorative filigree and getting new gargoyles.

The interior of the wagon has an atmosphere of snug homeliness, and the Dracule van is of very fine quality, giving it all a regal splendor. Almost everything a pony would need is to hoof. Even in winter, Taffy was never cold; the fire in the stove, if built up with the windows closed for half an hour (counted by candle-flame, no less!) will so heat the rails near the roof that they will be too hot to hold. Taffy has fond memories of baking cakes and cookies on the roof-rails in tins, and her brother getting them down for her once they came in from the cold.

Inside the vardo, the cabinet work may be either dark red polished mahogany or stained pine, and the walls are grained or scumbled in light golden brown. The Dracule van has had a long, adventurous life, and so most of the original wood finish has been painted over- but Taffy showed me the patch under the walk rug where the original finish has been protected these many years.

The internal layout, which varies only in the proportions from van to van, has not changed for a thousand years. The basic needs of the resident, after all, are still the same- and in such confined space, there are only so many sensible ways to meet those needs.

The entrance of the Dracule vardo is frontal and half-doored, to allow cool summer air into the van. Through the door on one’s immediate left, you will find a tall, narrow wardrobe and beneath it a small cupboard, generally used for hoof-picks, coat brushes, and wing-combs (along with a variety of hoof oils and conditioners). The stove stands next, and is always on the left as you enter- for on that side the chimney pipe is in less danger from roadside trees.

From a point about six hooves above the top of the stove, the fireplace is boxed in to form an airing and proofing cupboard. On the front of this cupboard and above the fireplace is a brass-railed shelf; and next to the stove is the offside window, beneath which is a locker seat for two. The Dracule vardo’s offside seat is large and plush enough for a guest to sleep on, a useful feature- as I understand it, Longshanks Rojomane went traveling with the two off and on for years before Taffy gained her apprenticeship and Hawkeye went to medical school, at which point the vardo was in ‘Shanks care.

When Taffy looked into the storage beneath the offside seat, she discovered all her family’s photo albums, neatly tucked away- and she sighed. I spent a good half-hour helping her move the small shoebox full of unsorted photographs, as well as the several albums, into the kitchen. I then helped her sort through the photographs, making sure to take notes about the average- and not so average- measurements of them. We made a plan to go get actual albums the next day; and, when Hawkeye didn’t come home that night, well…

Taffy loves her brother, I know she does. Taffy also has no patience for his emotional constipation, and refuses to allow him to forget their shared past. I understand both sides of the argument, and refuse to involve myself beyond helping as a friend would- supporting her in buying new albums for the ones that are falling to pieces, and helping her make sense of the shoebox full of photographs, ranging from her and her brother’s foalhood, to her great-great-great grandparents wedding photographs.

As it turned out, I was able to help put the various photos into order, not by person to person- but by their clothing . I even managed to separate some of them out by year, and labelled them with approximate dates- with Taffy’s permission and some special archival ink from the Crystal Empire.

Even Heron Vondergeist, Hawkeye’s marefriend, helped out- she had been moving in with him when we came to stay for a while, and once she noticed our little project, she immediately started helping. She cleared off a shelf in the living room to put all the finished albums on, bought new albums as more and more pictures were curated and labelled, even helped put each photo into an album… and, of course, when Hawkeye finally came home with his friend, ‘Shanks, she talked him through the meltdown he had at seeing his parents again.

Taffy was barely out of diapers when her parents died; she doesn’t really remember them. Hawkeye, on the other hoof, had just gotten his Cute Stamp, and dearly loved his parents. He’s got a lot of trauma associated with these pictures- apparently, it was tradition in his family, before his parents passed, to go through the collection and tell stories about those pictured.

It was several days before Hawkeye calmed down enough to talk about the pictures; and longer still before he began sharing stories with Heron and Taffy about the people in the pictures. I listened in and dutifully wrote down the names and important details about each pony pictured.

That’s been the evening’s occupation for the past month or so, Journal. Ah, let me finish the description of the interior of the vardo before my candle burns too low-

To the right, as you enter, there is a bow-fronted corner cupboard; the top part, usually having glass or mesh doors, is used for storing perishable food and in the finer vardos, enchanted with cooling or stay-fresh spells. The cupboard below is for non perishables, utensils, and dishes, usually metal or wood.

Opposite the stove there is another locker seat, usually containing those cooking things that do not see often use or are too unwieldy or fragile to have out every day. Of a cold winter’s day it is good to sit at this seat, lean back, and rest your frozen hooves on the brass guard rail on the front of the stove; it’s also a nice place to dry out after a hard rain. Next to the seat, further in, there is a bow-fronted chest of drawers- this is where clothing, writing supplies, and other sundry goods are kept when not in use.

Filling in the back of the vardo is a two-bunked bed; the top bunk just below the rear window, and beneath are two sliding doors. These in the daytime shut away a second, less open bed-place in which foals sleep. Light is supplied at night from a bracket lamp above the chest of drawers, the surface of which is used as a table. More light may come from candles, or spelled gemstones.

After helping Taffy reconcile with Hawkeye, and their shared memories, the both of them decided to help me procure my own vardo- theirs being entirely too small, I could just about fit my head and shoulders through the door, but no more than that. As it happens, Hawkeye’s best friend, Longshanks Rojomane- Shanks, as he prefers- knows where a very high quality van could be procured, provided I have the funds. I do, as it happens- which is how I ended up meeting one of my cousins, Ace Spade- Ace, for short.

I also made a new friend, Mark Merryweather.

I’ll write more tomorrow, Journal; my eyes are starting to sting from the smoke, these are not good candles.

Best Love, Meadow

Galley and Van Builder’s Company, No.7, Garage 1; Purchasing A Vardo Today, Hooray!

Dearest Journal,

I mentioned yesterday that I made a new friend and met a cousin of mine. The two events are not unrelated.

Ace works as a mercenary, in the employ of the Whitebeard Company; they’re known for their honor, their just dealings, their strength, and their commitment to the stallion they call ‘Pops’, Rich “Whitebeard” Guard of Newgate- apparently he began going grey in the whiskers as a foal, and the nickname stuck.

I suppose I ought to say it now- I’m a Master-level Spellweaver, which is not like other forms of magery available to a unicorn. A spellweaver literally weaves spells into fabric- a dying art, to be sure, but… well, I can’t help but brag on it a bit. In this day and age, spells usually get put into crystals or wood, or merely cast, and that’s fine- but if the crystal breaks, if the wood burns, if the caster looses their concentration, the spell falls apart, sometimes quite disastrously. A woven spell, on the other hand… well, think of it like this. Even if you put a great big hole through the center of a piece of fabric, it’s still a piece of fabric- depending on how quickly and carefully you patch or repair the hole, it can still be used for its intended purpose. After all, a scarf will still keep you warm, even if there’s a big hole at the end of it.

Similarly, even if there’s a big hole in the physical structure of a woven garment with a spell woven in, the spell will still work- not as well, and not for as long, but it will still work. Guardspony cloaks, most every saddlebag, yokes, baby things- all of these are bread and butter for the spellweaver.

Anyway, after helping my cousin in a way I know he’d be mortified to learn I wrote down- ask me in pony, if you want to know- I gained an invitation to meet his Pops, and get a contract with the Whitebeard Mercenary company as a contracted Spellweaver- they go through saddlebags and gun holsters like you would not believe, according to Ace. For a spellweaver such as myself, this represents an opportunity for steady, easy work- and as there will soon come a time where I will be unable to do much at all on my hooves or off, I need to secure such things as I can, as they come, now.

I explained the bare bones of my circumstances to Ace, and after talking him out of going after- well, I talked him out of it, as that really would be much too far to go for something like this. I did accept his offer of being the foal-to-be’s godfather, so that’s one thing settled- I know if anything happens to me, Ace will care for the one to come.

As for Mark- he’s the clerk who helped me get through all the paperwork needed for the purchase of my new home.

To start with, he helped me narrow down what I’d like my home to look like- warm colors, like my shawl and coat, with a sharper blue color to make the other colors pop and laugh lively. I needed something large enough for me, in a design that would resist tipping even on very uneven roads and terrains; something I could pull at my full speed, which is a comfortable run for most ponies. After a long discussion about what I’d need- somewhere to store my supplies, somewhere to sleep, somewhere for my foal-to-be to sleep, a table, all the necessary- a model began to take shape under Mark’s clever hooves, made of heavy cardstock and colorful paper and glue. For me, heavy decoration is not so important as strong, sturdy construction; leaving the decorations rather plain will allow me to set a variety of spells and enchantments into the wagon myself- I’m a unicorn, and a master spellweaver at that, what else would I do?

As for my secondary goal of keeping the price within reasonable limits, without sacrificing sturdiness or comfort- well, that meant the local pine, oak, and elm would see heaviest use, and the finer woods of mahogany, ash, and teak would have to be gone without.

Most of the actual work in making a wagon for somepony my size has been done already- while the Galley and Van don’t make such large vans often, they’ve done it enough to have all the jigs and things necessary for it already- as I understand, that’s half the work right there.

Then, the actual undercarriage was built- the wheels, the yoke, the stairs, the breaks- and there, the first enchantment I made! I linked a pair of shoes to a crystal which I set in the breakwheel, and I left myself a way to change the alignment of the spell from shoe set to shoe set- thus, when I do a specific pattern with my hooves, the spell engages the break, and the entire van slows down to a halt. I also, after some research and conversation with the fine stallions of Galley and Van, added a way to put my vardo into parking position without bending over or even getting out of harness, if need be.

The foreman for my van, Frank Starbuck, is very interested in the sheer number of spells I can learn, even more so in the set of books I found in the local library- a set of dusty tomes meant for the itinerant unicorn traveler, to lighten and ease their way. The majority of them are meant to be cast on vans and vardos after they’ve been built- but basic spell theory is a spell is more powerful if it’s put into an object at the time of its creation.

Anyway, I’ve gotten a lovely set of crystal lamps put onto the back porch, with double spells of dimlight, foglamp, and bugs-b-gone on them; and, as soon as it’s finished drying, another pair will go in front.

I was quite liberal with my use of cushioning and steadying spells in the base of the van; so much so that taking it on a preliminary run ‘round the yard with Franky on left him faintly nauseated- apparently, I went too far. I toned them down until he could tell he was moving, but only just- even when I pulled flat out, as hard as I could, he still barely felt a thing. The brakes also work a treat, and my new roadshoes are getting nicely worn in.

The walls are of box construction, insulated quite well with cloudy cotton batting, and I put spells in for insulation- a simple cantrip usually used for lunchboxes, but it scales remarkably well, hence it’s inclusion in the old unicorn wanderer’s guide. Without the spells, leaving the box out in the sun made the air within quite stuffy, even with the lack of window panes and solid doors; with them, even Taffy, who is still shaggy with her winter coat, felt quite at ease.

When the subflooring went it, so too did the first sound dampening spells; I don’t particularly like the sound of creaking wood as it travels over roads, and even Taffy seemed quite delighted by the change. Apparently, there’s nothing worse than a particularly heavy groan from the axles in winter waking one up when they’ve no reason for it. The bed structure, when it went in, got positively inundated with softening, quieting, and insulating spells- so much so that one of the apprentices, Fern something-something, fell asleep and couldn’t be found for a good four hours one day.

Cute filly; I didn’t know a fern and a hammer could be someone’s cutie mark, but who am I to judge?

The roof got soaked in anti-smoke and dust spells, because those rafters are where I’m going to be storing most of my unworked skeins. The purlins have little rows of outstretched hooks, shaped quite like antlers; I like them rather a lot.

The window and door jambs got the first half of the windcease spell put into them; and then, when the doors and windows were added- three windows, one on each side and one above the bed; one split-level door- the second half of the spell was added. The wash pan was included free of charge, since I’m doing so much of the enchanting and heavy horsepower jobs myself. As each new piece of furnishing was added- the drawers, the stove, the cabinetry- I added various spells that were of use. Soft-close spells, firebreak spells- as soon as the first layers of varnish went on, so too did the firebreak, the waterproofing (for the wood), protection from wood rot, fungus, and woodworm; each successive layer got it’s own bevy of spells, all quite the same. The roof got it’s own treatment of powerful anti fungal and waterproofing spells, right alongside the shingles, caulking, and so on.

Next came the fanciful designs, which I did not ask for- but apparently, when you help tear out loathed stumps, haul massive carts of wood, clean and mend all the curtains, and are gently encouraging to the young apprentices when they have meltdowns, you gain the adoration and respect of the stallions working on your vardo. Every time I look at my home again, one of those silly stallions has added another intricate piece of something, somewhere- Starbuck’s the worst, as is his apprentice, Fern, always finding little places to add yet more delicate carvings.

I think Starbuck’s been snitching from my personal design book, as well as taking cues from my cutie mark- why else would I find sunflowers where the lightest yellow’s going to go, and goldenrods where the darkest biting yellow is going; cosmos and coriander winding around the doors and windows, that’s Taffy’s influence; mint along the red parts, and even a small planter box, full of… well, mint is nearly unkillable, so… and coneflowers! All across the roofline! Hexagons and winding sinuous shapes- someone’s seen my drawings of bee dancing, and all of the dances are versions of ‘welcome home’- these stallions are s-so silly, so very silly-

Sorry for getting tears on you, Journal. Ah, they’ve also put in iconography of Vanhoover- frogs, hawks, hard edged curves and swerves… It’s all very beautiful, and it’s being painted beautifully, which means I can finally add the last few touches- a spell for health, a spell for love in the home, a spell for safe travels… and then, today, it’s done.

The nights are still cold enough to need a warm blanket; and down nearer the coast, the winter hasn’t actually ended, as they’re on a slightly different schedule due to the water. Thus, for the purposes of field testing, I’m to take my mostly finished vardo to the seaside for a vacation. I’ve a list of things to do, and a list of things to look out for that can be changed; and, for the sake of checking the ride of the interior, I have to take friends with me.

I, personally, think that everyone just wants Hawkeye to take his bucking vacation already; Taffy came with me to most of my vardo building appointments, because she’s very interested in this part of her culture. She also began to complain, at great length, about her brother not taking his vacation time seriously.

We all got tired of it about the third day in, and it lasted the entire five weeks it took to build my vardo, even with all the added fancy woodwork. So. I’ve made a plan.

First, I talk to Heron and Shanks, to get Hawkeye packed and to get supplies for my vardo; then, I talked to Taffy, to make sure he wouldn’t have a bad reaction to my plan; and then I talked to his superior at the hospital, who was also quite exasperated by Hawkeye’s resistance to actually taking a break.

Then, today, I kidnapped him. He’s actually on my back as I write this, and is sulking quite adorably. I’ve invited Heron, Shanks, Taffy, Frank Starbuck, and Mark Merryweather to come along on our beach trip- Starbuck agreed so long as young Fern and his other apprentice, Carrot Sundae, could come along. I agreed, of course- it’s always fun to have young ponies along on a beach trip, they seem to get more out of it.

Ah, time to go get Taffy, and purchase a stove- a relatively quick errand, but, well, Hawkeye’s vardo needs a new stove and neither of the zebra siblings know how to purchase one. I do- and I don’t mind teaching them, as I buy my stove and insert for my vardo.

The type of stove you need depends on what you’re doing- if you’re going about with a vardo, you need a stove; if you’re just by yourself with saddlebags, you need a saddle stove. The two are only interchangeable in basic applications. Which type you need is determined by the space available, weight restrictions, and what you’re willing to cook. Stoves are large, heavy, and require a lot of wood or charcoal to burn steady- but, they can do everything a home stove and oven can do, accommodate standard kitchen cookware, and are very durable.

Saddlebag stoves are designed to be efficient. This could mean they’re efficient for their size and weight, or just use fuel extremely efficiently. Some saddlebagging models are designed solely to boil water, while others can simmer and cook food. Most saddlebag stoves are not that stable even flat, and tip over easily. The saddlebag stove is a useful tool regardless- perfect for boiling water quickly, or creating a small amount of heat as needed.

I have three pots (a two quart saucepan, a two and a half hoof saute pan, and an eight quart stock pot), a low skillet, a large metal bowl with a hole-y lid, various utensils, and a number of baking things- sheet pans, muffin tins, and so on. Thus, I need a stove.

There are six key features to consider when purchasing a new stove: weight, the stove door, fit and finish, positioning, safety, and fuel needs. Each thing has some bearing on the safety of the stove, it’s fuel costs, or the amount of heat it can give out.

Weight is determined by the weight of material that stove is made, as well as from the size of the stove. For some ponies, shopping for a stove by weight is a reasonable way to choose, especially if you’re saddlebagging or hauling a smaller wagon. However, for long term use, weight is not the best method of selection. Lighter weight stoves are lighter because they are either smaller in terms of dimension, made from thinner gauge materials, made from lighter materials, or some combination of all three.

Some ponies use thinner gauge materials to make their steel stoves lighter; this can be very dangerous, as when the material making anything is too thin, you run a higher risk of failure. For stoves, this means warping, and failure to perform in severe conditions. Finally, a lighter stove may produce less heat than you need to keep warm in cold weather; and in worst cases, can be the cause of a fire or smoke inhalation injuries.

My first piece of advice to the zebra siblings, then- do your best to choose a heavy stove, one that has thick walls and suits your purpose- be it saddlebagging or vardo living, or even for home use- the same list of things still applies. The most important thing is to have the right stove for your uses, and build a fire in it properly.

The second thing to consider is the stove door. It’s important to look carefully at the door of any new stove you’re considering, since the design and fit of the stove door can make or break your stove. The door must be high quality, with a tight seal- airtight is best, as it give the most control over your fire, adds years of use to your stove by preventing overheating and reducing warping, and keeps the quality of flame high. A cheap, poorly made door allows air to leak into the stove, which makes controlling the fire within almost impossible.

A proper stove door will help your fuel burn cleaner, as the process of turning dry wood to charcoal is much faster with a well-fitting door. A proper door will also create enough turbulence for the fire to draw properly, and recombust the hot gases released by the wood as it burns.

My second piece of advice- a heavy, well fitted door is safer than a thin flimsy one. The door to the stove does more than keep the fire in; it helps direct airflow, keeps smoke from filling the area, and keeps the stove from warping.

The fit and finish of any potential new stove is important to see first-hoof, before you buy it. You must be able to trust the stove with your life; did the craftspony take care with their work? Did they use all the safety features they ought have? The door must have a high temperature gasket, to truly be airtight; there must be a baffle, to spread the flame across the top of your stove evenly and keep it from going directly up the stove pipe; you must be able to damper your stove to a low flame without smoke coming from the seams; and least important but not unimportant, you must like the look of your stove. You’ll be living with it a good long while- you must like it, like standing in front of it, like what you purchase.

My third piece of advice- be conscious of the crafting that went into the stove. It’s more than just aesthetic and personal preference- it must be a well made piece of equipment.

The position of the stove is important too. It must have proper clearance from combustibles- at minimum, six hooves all the way around, on all sides, or if it’s against a wall, there must be a fireproof insert behind and below it. If you have a storage box for kindling or charcoal, it must either be far enough away from the stove so as not to spontaneously catch flame, or be enchanted to keep the contents within from taking on too much heat- I, personally, am going to be going with the second option, as I’ve already put a cold-spell on my perishables cupboard. If you’re using your stove in a tent or a camp, put it in the center.

Fourth piece of advice- fire safety is important no matter what!

Fifth piece of advice- FIRE SAFETY IS IMPORTANT NO MATTER WHAT!

The andiron is a horizontal bar that is used to support the logs that get fed into the flames. Very important to keeping a fire going all night long; the andiron allows for air flow through the burning logs. The stoker is used to hook, rake, or push burning materials in your fireplace. Not every stick burns up cleanly; that’s what a tool is for. The bellows allow you to deliver controlled gusts of air to specific parts of your fire; increasing the flames without you losing your breath or getting your face too close to the flame. The shovel allows you to move piles of burning material, or piles of ash, in your fireplace. Tongs, like the stoker, help you move burning logs in your fireplace or stove. Finally, the broom is for sweeping bits of ash and soot back into the fire, and sweeping ash out when everything’s burnt out.

As for actually building a fire, it is best to keep a supply of tools available at the site of the stove. Highly flammable things, such as dried grass or oilpaper; wood shavings; kindling, like twigs and small sticks; small pieces of cordwood; and a way of striking a flame, such as matches, spark-stones, or a candle-lighting cantrip. Keep these things in a box, well away from the open flame when a fire is struck; and replace them after each new fire started.

To make a fire, separate a full hoofull or two of dried grass or full sheet of oilpaper. Bunch and compress them, and lay them on the bed of the fire box just in front of the door. Lay a few half-hoof strips of wood shavings on top of the flammables, and place several pieces of small kindling wood or dry bark on top of the shavings. Finally, a piece or two of cordwood split to about a half hoof diameter on topmost. Open the vent as far as they’ll go, and light the fire.

After the cordwood ignites and burns for several minutes, add one or two larger pieces of wood. Be sure to flip and bunch the burning debris together before adding the larger pieces. Keep the air vents open for several minutes or until the larger pieces are well ignited; then, adjust the vents according to the desired heat output of the stove.

At night, when it’s time for bed, banking the fire is a must especially when the following morning promises to be bitter cold. To do so, one must let the logs in the wood stove burn down to the coals; fully open the flue, and use a fireplace shovel or similar tool to rake the coals to the center of the stove; place one or two small logs on top of the coals; completely cover the logs and coals with ashes from your ash pail. The wood stove should be dark once you’ve finished; then, turn the flue down so it’s mostly closed- you’ll want a little air to get through, but not too much. In the morning, open the flue, and scoop as much of the ash as you can back into the ash bucket. The wood you had placed on the coals will now probably be gone, and in its place should be lots of glowing coals. Rake the coals forward, and place two or three logs behind the coals. The coals will relight the fire; and thus, a successful banking is performed.

Sixth piece of advice- learn to build a fire properly! There are six tools you’ll need- an andiron, a stoker, bellows, hot coal shovel, tongs, and broom. A fire is not just a pile of sticks set ablaze; building one and keeping it banked at night requires practice.

By the end of my purchase, I’d picked up Shanks and Heron, the both of them laden with heavy saddlebags. Shanks had all the food and toiletries I’d asked him to buy for me- I gave him money and a list with little ticky boxes next to each item, and he showed up about halfway through my calm explanation of how to purchase a good stove, eyebrows high under red bangs. Heron joined us after I’d purchased the stove, reapplied the stickyback charm and firmly stuck Hawkeye to my withers, and returned to the building yard for my vardo.

Ah, Ace added himself to our outing- apparently, he wants to keep an eye on me. Sweet, silly stallion…

Installing the stove, and the charcoal box underneath, and the ash pail with it’s own lid, and all the stove tools, takes a bit less than half an hour- the door wasn’t hung quite yet, you see, and wouldn’t be until all the final tweaks had been attended.

My seat cushions and mattress are all clouds- literal clouds, actually. The perks of being a spellweaver- weaving a cloudwalking spell into three seat cushion covers and a mattress cover is simple enough, and with the spell, store bought seat covers and bedding is just fine- or, in my case, using what I brought from home- for my bed, at least.

Proportionally, each seat is fully large enough to comfortably sleep an average pony; and my bed could sleep a group of six, with plenty of room to spare. I’ve got a few projects, and the majority of my things- but I won’t completely move in and settle until my vardo’s finished.

As for what I actually asked everyone to pack- well, Journal, that depends on the type of trip you take as well as how far to your destination, and what you’ll be doing when you get there. Before departing, one must of course check the weather schedules for where you are, where you’re going, and the route you’re taking- should be fine weather, but there’s a chance of cold fog as we near the coast. Even if the forecast is perfect, one ought be prepared for sudden storms and unexpected winds.

Once we arrive, I expect I’ll be setting camp securely before I even consider leisurely activities like exploring tide pools or making sandcastles. We won’t be camping directly on the beach, but rather at a campground a half hour or so away from the beach, clear of the stony shore.

For food, though we all have dreams of beetroot tartare and herb salads on the beach, those aren’t practical options when living in a vardo by the shore- sand gets into absolutely everything, after all. One-pot meals of tubers and beans, chilis, pasta dishes- these, fruit, small cheeses, pickles… things that can be prepared in a covered pot or not at all are best.

Sand will still get into absolutely everything, however.

First on my list, a tarpaulin that can attach securely to my vardo, along with stakes to securely anchor it into the ground, and another tarpaulin for groundcover- I almost asked for stakes, but two tarps and some rope should be just fine. I also asked for sleeping mats, and an extra blanket.

Lamp crystals, flashlights, bug repellent- incense, and stuff we rub into our coats- as well as sunscreen are always a must at the beach. If you’re staying past sunset, that’s when all the bugs come out- and beaches are always much darker than they seem. I purchased some folding chairs myself, ones meant to fold down very very small indeed, as well as a beach umbrella with sand anchors. Sturdy trash bags, a small broom to sweep sand out of the vardo… nothing I’m bringing can’t be brought out.

I’ve unloaded my kettle, and my tea pot; my set of wooden bowls and plates; my four cooking knives, a chef’s knife, a small paring knife, a long serrated bread knife, and a carving knife. Nothing goes through giant radish roast better, after all. Then there are my baking tools- mixing bowls, measuring spoons and cups, mixing utensils, spatulas, baking pans and trays, parchment paper, piping supplies, pastry brushes, little bowls… a cake stand, and a small box of toothpicks. Then of course there’s my multi tool, complete with knife, can opener, basic pliers, and corkscrew. We’ll be gathering driftwood once we’re there, but we’ll need to take along firewood and charcoal for the journey there and back…

As for food and water- my water jack, which saw me through Trottingham, is still in nearly new condition, and still enchanted to weigh nearly nothing and hold far more than it should. I’ve made pickled lemons, for a pickled lemonade one of my penpals from Golia taught me, very good for hydration; Shanks got the food for a variety of one pot meals, as well as a multitude of fresh fruit, loaves of bread, veggies good for sandwiches, fruit, milk, eggs, butter, flour, sugar, spices, vanilla extract, yogurt, tea, salt… I, myself, got refills of my particular mixture of supplements, to keep healthy.

Everyone is to bring a swimsuit, broad brimmed hat or flat hat that covers the neck, a lightweight rain or wind jacket, quick drying towels, your warm winter articles just in case of a sudden storm off the sea, sunglasses, toothbrush and toothpaste, sea-safe soap, sunscreen, bug repellent, and whatever medicines are needed.

Oh, yes- as for toys… frisbees, balls, snorkeling gear if they’d like, life jackets if they can’t swim well… and a camera if anyone wants to record precious memories.

Ah, yes- and I told the bees of our upcoming beach trip. They seemed quite exuberant- I assume to taste the lovely new beach flower flavors.

Ah, Journal, everyone’s finally finished packing and running off to get one last thing- I’ve only to put Hawkeye to bed in the vardo as he’s fallen asleep on my withers, and then we can be off. I’ll write again once we’ve either stopped for the night or have arrived.

Best Love, Meadow

Early Spring, a bit wet honestly; Whitecliff has so many tidepools

Dearest Journal,

Whitecliff Park is located near West Vanhoover’s Horseshoe Bay Neighbourhood; perhaps half a day’s steady trot. It’s a Marine Protected Area of about fifteen or sixteen hectares, and is currently home to more than two hundred marine animal species. It’s a place known for it’s extensive trail of tidepools, and for the sea lions that sunbath on the beach during the summer.

We arrived about a week after leaving Vanhoover proper, set up camp, and slept the night away to the soft rushing of the shore. Hawkeye settled- begrudgingly- into enjoying his vacation after we well and truly left city limits. Apparently, there’s a law that makes it so that any doctor entering city limits for any reason that wishes to practice must be cleared of all diseases, infections, and lingering magics for two full weeks before they can legally attend any medical affair- Vanhoover’s a city of immigrants, so it does make some sense. There are some truly nasty diseases in Saddle Arabia, much less Phynx; no one wants La Gripp!

I’ve finally settled on an appropriate hobby- and previous Journals well know how easy it is to let my work become my life. Take note, future reader! Do not let work become everything you are, and everything you do! Take the time to make the time for a hobby- even if it’s something very dull, like stamp collecting or growing extremely large vegetables, you must have a pastime that pleases you for no other reason than: it pleases you.

My hobby is watercolor sketching- particularly of the natural world. I will first detail my kit; then, the wonderful times I’ve had painting what’s around me.

To start with, the paper- do not begin with the cheapest watercolor paper! Even mixed media paper would be better than cheap watercolor paper… Use the most expensive watercolor paper that your budget can afford. Your paper is one of the most critical deciding factors in the quality of your finished product . Get a journal of watercolor paper- one from a company known for fine products, like Mole’s. Get a big sheet of very fine watercolor paper and cut it down to the size you need, or fold it up into a book. But this is not somewhere to save your money.

Secondly, the brush- for sketch work, a brush pen is truly essential. It holds a reservoir of water or ink inside it, and is absolutely perfect for traveling. Your final product depends less heavily on the quality of your brush; the quality of your skill can make up for the lack of quality in a brush, but only to a point. It’s okay if you don’t have the ‘perfect’ brushes right now- good brushes are expensive, and are easiest to collect over time.

Thirdly, the paints- and here, I am torn. For some things, I prefer liquid watercolors; for others, paint pans. Different approaches for different things- but the one thing I won’t skimp on is vibrancy. You can always water down a paint, Journal- but you cannot build it up forever, as there comes a point where your paper quite literally spits your efforts out at you. Concentrated liquid pigments also require a palette to use correctly- pay attention!

As for actual kit, in order- a zippered pouch from the hardware or feed store, large enough to hold your journal or paper and board; an eraser of good quality, a bit better than school quality but would not be out of place there; a fountain pen that won’t leak, and probably a refill for the pen; a pencil and a sharpener, or a mechanical pencil; refillable brush pens, sometimes called water brushes; paper napkins, paper towels, or a small cloth- and moist towelettes or wet wipes, as the pigment always stains if not cleaned promptly; a journal or sketchbook with the appropriate paper; and the paints, which can be a watercolor pan, or a full on set.

The first week into our group vacation, the fillies- Carrot Sundae and Fern- were already quite bored. By the second week, they were annoying each of the group in turn by following somepony around and spying on what they were doing- Heron and Hawkeye on their dates, Starbuck and Mark on their hiking trips, Taffy during her dance practice…

So, before they could get to me, I decided to teach them how to paint and draw- more so than their drafting courses would have made them.

In this case, since I don’t ever venture farther than a half-hour’s walk, I felt it prudent to make actual painting satchels for the girls, as well as put my own in order. Firstly, their saddlebags- one day, after Mark and Taffy lost their tempers and chased them up and down the beach for several hours, the girls were well asleep long before their normal time. I took the liberty of emptying their saddlebags, taking proper measurements of their backs and flanks, and pulling out my bolt of ripstop canvas, and my bolt of plain white canvas (ripstop color changes with a minor spell and setting wash) and sewing machine. I put quieting spells on my machine when I went to college; I needed to be able to sew at any time, without disturbing my roommates.

All sewing projects start with a pattern- the girls are big enough for standard saddlebags, ones meant for adult ponies, which saves me the trouble of drawing a new one. A simple do this, then that spell has the fabric ironed flat and cut cleanly, notched and pinned for sewing; then, the actual stitching of the satchel-style saddlebags, which went quietly ignored by the slightly disgruntled members of the group. The girls had passed out underneath my bed, where I was calmly longueing as I put together their new saddlebags.

Carrot’s saddlebag is a cream color, to play against the orange of her coat; with a lovely bit of applique over the magnetic closures in the shape of a beautiful orange float , the same as her cutie mark. Fern’s applique of a fern branch and hammers is no less beautiful, particularly on a pale mint ground.

The little beds under my bed have tiny shelves on either end- I carefully set the girls things from their old saddlebags away on these shelves, and then put their new, finished saddlebags on the little hooks where their old one’s hung. Then, I pack their old ones away in my mending box; I’ll fix them up, and give them back if they ask- but I don’t think they will.

Carrot and Fern are city girls- they’ve never really been on a vacation before, and they’ve never really had nothing to do, either. Carrot, at least, has a few novels in her bag- but Fern has nothing so diverting.

Thus, I feel no shame in giving both girls a full watercolor kit- journals with their names in my neatest calligraphy on the inside covers, empty palettes I fill with twenty four colors and let dry before packing; pencilcases, each with a fountain pen and pen refill, mechanical pencils, regular pencils, a pencil sharpener, brush pens, small cloths, and moist towelettes; and a note from me, informing them that they’d be spending the next few days with me as punishment for their misbehavior these past two weeks.

I also made sure to impress on the group how very miserable the girls would be with me- as neither of them had shown any real interest in exploring tidepools, and flatly refused when I offered to teach them to sew or knit. After much griping, and some protests from Starbuck, the group agreed to leave the punishing of the girls to me.

A proper punishment isn’t fun, and it isn’t something anyone wants to experience. Thus, painting was never the actual punishment- no. My punishment was this- the girls had to, by the end of the day, apologize to everyone they’d hurt these past two weeks, and they had to mean it.

I announced their punishment at breakfast, to the horror of the girls; and I explained to them that their actions had hurt everyone, and that the only thing they could do to be forgiven was apologize- and that, as it sometimes happens, an apology might not be enough. A pony should do their best to do right; and if they do wrong, that is their choice, but they might not be forgiven for it.

Then I took them off and taught them how to paint with watercolors- just the basics, of course. I doubt much of the lesson sunk in, but that was the point. I packed lunch for all three of us- and so, that day, it was like this: Me, the Girls, and their own remorse, observing the antics of those strange creatures that dwell in tidepools.

At dinner, they both apologized to each person, individually, and were so heart-weary they could not even enjoy my strawberry-rhubarb crumble. They ate their sproutburgers and hayfries; and then they went to bed, miserable and contrite.

As an aside, all the others seem a bit… in awe of me? Somehow? I suppose they thought that I’m a soft touch. I’m not; I’m responsible, is what I am, and I don’t expect adult behavior from children, for another.

Ah, Journal- I might never understand what exactly the rest of our group was expecting of the two fillies in our company; I know I expected them to be bored fillies, and I got exactly what I expected.

Best Love, Meadow

Author's Note

Whoops I wrote a MLP fanfic when I was writing something else hahaha