Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 373 The Bay Area (Part 1)

On June 11, early summer arrived earlier than usual at Kaiyuan Fort (now Edgewood, Washington, ten kilometers east of Tacoma), and the air still carried a hint of moisture from the sea.

Tian Dacheng pushed open the door, took a deep breath of the fresh air outside, and looked at the huge courtyard covering an acre in front of him, feeling extremely happy.

On the left is a poultry shed enclosed by spruce wood, where more than thirty chickens and ducks are flapping their wings and vying for food; on the right is a newly built livestock shed, where a gray draft horse and two yellow cattle are leisurely chewing hay.

Seven years ago, when he set foot on this land, he never imagined that one day he would own such a beautiful and spacious house, with a front yard, a back yard, and a flock of chickens and ducks running around.

This is clearly the kind of good life that only landlords and wealthy families in the Ming Dynasty could enjoy!
"Honey, breakfast is ready," came the gentle voice of his wife, Wang, from inside the house.

The aroma of corn porridge wafted from inside, mingling with the salty and savory scent of smoked salmon.

Tian Dacheng did a few chest-expanding exercises to loosen his muscles and bones. He reached out and vigorously rubbed the head of the yellow dog that was wagging its tail in front of him. Then he turned around and went into the house. The wooden floor made a steady creaking sound under his feet.

This two-courtyard house was built by him and a group of early immigrants after he arrived at Kaiyuan Fort last summer. The two-story wooden structure is one of the best in the entire fort.

The sturdy pine beams and pillars, the meticulously polished cedar flooring, and the several stained-glass windows brought from Qiming Island all demonstrate the owner's wealth and taste.

In terms of scale and grandeur, even the Kaiyuan Fort official residence is probably no match.

"Today we're going to check out that newly reclaimed hillside on the east side," Tian Dacheng said while sipping his hot corn porridge. "Yesterday, Xiao Song told me that the soil there is suitable for planting buckwheat. This stuff is cold-resistant, drought-resistant, and has a short growing season. If we plant the seedlings now, we can harvest them in just over three months."

"I also told Zhang Baozhang to have the new Liao people come and lend a hand. I reckon they'll be in the fields around noon, so you'll have to prepare plenty of food for them."

The "Little Song" he mentioned was an agricultural official dispatched by the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry, responsible for guiding agricultural production in Kaiyuan Fort and several surrounding settlements.

荞麦的传统播种时间通常在春季（3-5月）和秋季（7-8月），但6月仍可播种，只要确保霜冻前成熟便可顺利收获。

According to the climate records of the immigrants who settled there in the previous two years, the first frost on both sides of the Ziwu River usually occurs after October. If sowing is done at this time, the harvest can be completed in early September.

Buckwheat has a coarse texture and a strong grainy feel. Even after being ground into flour, it retains the bran-like texture and has a slightly bitter taste. It is far less delicate and smooth than wheat, and even less sweet and sticky than corn.

But in this newly developed land, as long as it's food, as long as it can fill people's stomachs, who cares about whether it tastes good or not?

You should know that in the Ming Dynasty, in the areas where famine broke out, let alone buckwheat, even wild grass roots would be snatched up and swallowed whole by starving people.

So, this land has just been reclaimed, and we can't let it sit idle for long. We should dig some riverbed mud, apply some bird droppings, and be able to harvest some grain.

His wife, Wang, pushed a plate of marinated salmon in front of him: "Although Xiao Song looks young, he is very capable. I heard that he studied at the Qiming Island headquarters for eight or nine years and knows a lot. Tomorrow, let's invite him to our house for a meal."

"Yes, I know." Tian Dacheng nodded and said, "We should not only invite Xiao Song to dinner, but we also can't forget Chief Zhang. We'll be staying here for a long time and will have to rely on them."

Suddenly, the sound of horses' hooves came from outside the courtyard.

Tian Dacheng put down his bowl and chopsticks and took the flintlock pistol from the porch hook—he had exchanged it for a service certificate from the Northern Trading Company.

In January of last year, the Immigration and Settlement Department introduced an incentive policy to allow some of the older immigrants to settle and settle in the "frontier regions," thereby guiding the new immigrants to adapt to the environment as quickly as possible and to play a leading role in the local area.

Of course, the government's move also has the intention of mixing in foreign elements.

After all, the older immigrants, having received years of "favor" from the state, still possess a degree of loyalty. They can monitor or sow discord among the new immigrants and cooperate with local settlement officials to better carry out their work.

The government will not let these old immigrants go for nothing. In addition to the 40 acres of land allocated normally, they are also allowed to spend money to purchase additional woodland or hillside land, with a tentative upper limit of 40 acres.

As for the land price, it was extremely favorable, only three silver dollars per acre, an absolute bargain.

After serving at the Northern Trading Company for seven years, Tian Dacheng brought his large savings to Xinhua Bay and settled in Kaiyuan Fort.

Through the glass window, he saw Xiao Song, the agricultural official, standing outside the fence with his horse in hand.

The young man wore an indigo cotton official robe with a bronze badge pinned to his chest, which gleamed in the sunlight.

"Old Tian!" Xiao Song's Xinhua Mandarin was tinged with a distinct Cantonese accent. "I've brought you the 'Crop Rotation Handbook'!"

He took a blue booklet from his satchel. "Lord Zhang said that the matter of the irrigation canal will be discussed in the government hall tonight. You must be there."

Tian Dacheng took the manual, his rough fingertips stroking the embossed rice ear pattern on the cover.

Seven years ago, when he first received his monthly pay at the Northern Trading Company, he also carefully touched the patterns on the silver dollar.

The old foreman who trained him back then said, "Young man, the most reliable things in this world are the land and your craft."

Now, he has planted more than 20 mu of his 40 mu of land with spring wheat, and the rest is used for rotation with soybeans and alfalfa.

The additional forty acres of hillside land were temporarily used as their pasture, where they grazed the twenty-odd sheep they had bought last year. "Has Lord Song had breakfast yet?" Madam Wang came out carrying a dish of pickled salmon. "Freshly pickled rainbow trout, seasoned with Sichuan peppercorns and wild garlic."

Xiao Song's Adam's apple bobbed slightly, but he still waved his hand and said, "No, I have to go to Liushutun, a few miles away. Wild boars and brown bears are robbing them there, and they've ruined over ten acres of potato seedlings."

As he mounted his horse, the flintlock pistol hanging at his waist struck the saddle with a crisp metallic sound.

Watching Xiao Song leave, Tian Dacheng turned to his wife and said, "Bring out that jar of sorghum liquor from the house tonight. Master Zhang loves your braised venison; remember to add plenty of star anise."

He walked toward the tool shed, where shovels and rakes were neatly hung on the north wall; they were all specially made, widened versions by the blacksmith in the fort.

When Tian Dacheng carried his shovel out of the courtyard, he was surprised to see five new immigrants dressed in coarse linen clothes standing awkwardly at the crossroads.

The leader, speaking with a heavy Shandong accent, said, "Master Tian, ​​the fort commander sent us to serve you..."

A young man behind him stared wide-eyed at Tian Dacheng's leather boots.

"Oh, weren't you supposed to come over at noon?"

"The fort chief changed the plan today. He told us to come and help Master Tian first, and then go to work in the fields of Guantun tomorrow," the leading man said. "The fields were flooded a few days ago, and I reckon they're not completely dry yet, so it's hard to walk on them."

"Alright! Just call me Old Tian, ​​I'm not some rich landlord!"

As Tian Dacheng spoke, he slung the shovel over his shoulder and waved his hand, "Come on, I'll show you what a wonderful place it is—a place where 'a handful of black soil oozes oil, and even a chopstick stuck in it will sprout!'"

He deliberately walked with the same square gait he used to take when he was a caravan driver, his leather boots creaking on the muddy road.

This road was only widened last autumn, and the pine saplings on both sides have just sprouted new branches.

In the distance, on the riverbank, a dozen or so migrants were bending over and picking up pebbles—to be used to build the retaining wall of the irrigation canal.

After turning the mountain ridge, the eastern slope suddenly opens up into a bright and open space.

Last year, the wasteland was overgrown with thorns and weeds, but now it has been divided into neat ridges by the traces of burning.

Tian Dacheng squatted down and grabbed a handful of soil. The dark brown humus leaked through his fingers, glistening in the morning sun.

"This soil is comparable to that of Shandong!" the Shandong man said with a smile.

In his rough palm, a few buckwheat seeds resembled tiny pyramids.

"This land is alright, but it still can't compare to the soil in Shandong! However, if you work hard, you'll have land like this in a few years!"

"Hehe..." The man chuckled憨憨地, "That would be the best thing ever! We dream of having our own land, full of crops, and an endless supply of food in our house."

"Don't worry, everyone will get one." Tian Dacheng smiled. "Xinhua may not have much else, but it has a lot of land! As long as you are willing to work hard and put your heart into it, you will definitely be able to earn a piece of land that you can pass on to your descendants."

Tian Dacheng looked towards the mill under construction in the distance.

The windmill frame has been erected, like a giant's finger reaching towards the sky.

Further down the stream, several canoes were laden with logs drifting downstream—to be transported to the Xuanhan (now Seattle) shipyard.

Seven years ago, when he first heard about "Xinzhou", he thought it was a wild and untamed place inhabited by savages.

Now, the deeds to his dozens of acres of land are pressed at the bottom of a camphor wood chest in his bedroom, stamped with the scarlet seal of the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry of Xinhua.

"Hurry up and get to work!" Tian Dacheng said to the new immigrants. "In a few years, you too will have land like this and live in houses like mine."

"Hey, keep it up!"

The man responded with a heavy sigh, swung his pickaxe, and vigorously turned over the furrows. His eyes shone like the lighthouse on Qiming Island.

Tian Dacheng suddenly remembered himself eight years ago, huddled at the Pidao Wharf, carrying a tattered bundle.

At that time, the officers of Dongjiang Town looked at them with great disdain and herded them onto the immigrant ship of the new Chinese, as if they were being chased away like stray dogs.

Fate played a cruel trick on him; leaving the Ming Dynasty became a turning point in his destiny.

Seven years of hard work allowed him, a penniless refugee from Liaodong, to settle down on the new continent.

Now, he not only wants to continue his own struggle, but also to help more immigrants like him find their own place in this new land.
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(End of this chapter)