Sylvania Provides

Part of this year's Mellowdene Day celebrations included a more formal gathering in the Village Hall. The speakers were Cliff Babblebrook, Verden Dappledawn, Howard Brighteyes and - representing the Buttergloves - my wife's cousin and engineer Coltsfoot Ivory. My twin Newton was engaged in some work thing, and as some scientific knowledge was required, Colt was a decent substitute.

 

The main gratitude theme concentrated upon the bounties given to us by the land we love. What Sylvania gives us. The Snow Queen was mentioned but only in passing. 

I have spoken of the Snow Queen in previous stories. Most Mellowdenians subscribe to the belief to various degrees. Our Melting Festival is proof of that. Some are comfortable that this supernatural being actually existed and sacrificed herself to create Sylvania. Some think of her as a kind of metaphor for the land, providing for the people in return for their respect of nature. Reverend Kelvin Waters is careful to be non-committal in his sermons yet he is supportive to each individual's interpretations.

Personally, I haven't decided. The existence of the mysterious mineral we call the Dreamstone has muddied the water. Irrespective of one's leanings, the Mellowdene Day focus reminded me that Sylvania does provide unusual bounties to make life easier for its people. And I'm not simply speaking of food, water and climate. I thought I would mention a few.

o 0 O 0 o

You may recall that we use a substance called coolsalt. Manufactured in the mountain plains by our friends the Polaris family, the product is a clever combination of minerals easily sourced up there. Blocks of coolsalt are the active components of our refrigerators, absorbing heat and reducing the surrounding temperature. A remarkable discovery, kind to the environment and even recyclable. I've discovered that there is technology that can slowly discharge heat from used coolsalt - ideal for keeping food warm. Hot or cold - Sylvania provides. (*see Hot and Cold - Jul 2021)

Some of our artificial lighting is based upon insect droppings! Applying pressure to sparkfly waste causes a distinctive glow. Efficiently processed, spark bulbs are a safe alternative to oil, gas and electric lighting. All produced by the Brooks-Underwood Spark Farm, founded by ancestors of the two families. (*see When the Sun Goes Down - Sep 2022)

I have also mentioned floaty-pods. If the large seeds of the lavender ash trees undergo a simple process, they become lighter than air. They are incredibly useful, providing lift when heavy objects have to be moved. Further, the inventive Cedric Walnut has been able to use floaty-pods within his flying machine - Skyrider. (*see Being Apart from Friends - Sep 2023)

DingleDale Worm Farm helps boost the production of textiles thanks to the unusual echo worms that the Dale and Dingle families rear. I still remember the wonder I felt when visiting the farm and hearing the singing worms! (*see A Neighbourly Yarn with Music Mar 2021)

All remarkable, but there are more examples. One I should mention relates to fuel, but there are others. This came to my mind after thinking about the Mellowdene Day speeches.  

Most fireplaces in Mellowdene homes no longer burn fuel that produces open flames. Although we are fortunate to have the Hornbeam House Safety Department and firefighting equipment - under the control of our fire chief Benjamin Underwood - the village has, in the main, cut down on fire risks by switching to an alternative heat source. 

This in no way minimises the respect and gratitude we have for Ben and his volunteer fire crew.

But back to fireglass.

We call it fireglass because it has the appearance of red glass. I don't know the specific details of its manufacture but we understand a key ingredient is a type of fungus that grows in shady conditions, the common name being ruby mushrooms. A local natural source is within one of the many small valleys at the foot of our neighbouring mountain range, although it is now grown in quantity elsewhere. We have a small manufacturing plant that processes it locally - the alliterative Fireglass Fuel Factory run by Reilly Hunter-Smyth and his family. 

The mushroom caps are red but the once picked the stalks become dark, charcoal coloured. The fireglass retains these colours, but the dark parts are not visible in our fireplaces. When those dark parts are submerged in a bath of salt water, the red parts radiate flameless heat. Fine control is achieved by varying the amount of fireglass that is submerged.

A number of vehicles have had their fuel systems altered to use fireglass. The garage associated with Mellowdene Van Hire offer this as part of their services. Murphy Van Dyke and his son Draven are very efficient in this task. Once converted, a periodic replacement of the fireglass (often at the annual vehicle service) is all that is required thereafter. Salt water as the actual fuel is very convenient for filling up! 

o 0 O 0 o

It never ceases to amaze me how these discoveries are made. Given the existence of the Sylvanian Research Group and the Owl Collective, it wouldn't surprise me if all sorts of substances are examined and processed in a variety of ways. I could ask Newton but I'm never sure how much he'd reveal about the scientific work done by the SRG.

It is clear that Sylvania provides. Whether it was by design by the Snow Queen, some purpose of these ubiquitous wild energies, or as a consequence of magic or luck - I cannot tell. But it certainly links with our Mellowdene Day. A reason to be grateful.

o 0 O 0 o

 

Dog Days

Last time, when I was talking of the Sylvanian Olympics and some of our younger Mellowdene athletes, I mentioned Adam Maces as this young mouse has become quite an accomplished runner. It has since occurred to me that we haven't had any dogs taking an interest in this discipline. It struck me as odd because - as I have previously highlighted - we have a number of canine families living in the grasslands bordering the village and one reason they live there is because many of them enjoy running around in joyous abandon.

 

Recently I was at the dock snack bar playing a game of jindick with Owen Seadog (the place has become a popular location for board gamers). As I was wondering about the Olympics and why dogs didn't clamour to be participants I asked him for his take on the situation. He huffed as he considered his reply.

"I've never really thought about it, Jacky," he said. "I suppose it could be because we dogs like the freedom to run where we want to go. Change direction at a whim, enjoy how one's hair ruffles with the movement of air, the feeling of control in your body. No rules. We don't stick to a given path, don't time ourselves, try and break records or be better than our running mates."

"I see how that wouldn't lend itself to competition."

"That could be why," Owen nodded, "though maybe we Seadogs aren't the best to ask. Me and my brothers prefer the freedom of the waterways. A good sea breeze in yer snout. Now Drake has finished his academic work at the nautical college I expect he'll be joining his dad and the rest of us on the Marita May or at the docks."

 

Horatio's son Drake Francis Seadog had been at the college a few years, specialising in engineering as well as a range of other seafaring skills. He had been a live-in student, only spending holidays with his family in Mellowdene.

"My Cornel is interested in the waterside life but hasn't found his niche yet," reflected Owen. "On top of that, I think he doesn't want to offend his aunt and uncle."

After Owen was widowed, it didn't seem fitting that his son should live on a boat or in Dockside Cottage with his dad and uncles Amos and Irwin. It was agreed that Cornel could settle with his maternal aunt's family, the Paperbarks. They had an additional spare room for Owen when he wasn't busy at work - ideal as it ensured father and son could take advantage of that quality time. 

The Paperbarks run a stationers' shop. They craft their own speciality paper, mix inks, and deal with the bulk paper imported by the sea cats and transported to Mellowdene via the canal. Owen knew his sister-in-law's family hoped Cornel would join their business when he decided his career path.

Owen clicked his tongue. "I doubt my boy will take advantage of the Dog Days this year."

Dog Days. Yes, they are about due. And they had cropped up in conversation only a day ago.

o 0 O 0 o

My surrogate nephew, Orton Butterglove popped his head around the door to my living room.

 

"Are you free, Uncle Jack?" he said. "I've got some pals who'd like to see you."

 

I was curious so agreed. He opened the door more widely allowing three young dogs to traipse through before closing the door behind them.

.

There was Tam Tailbury, Fergus Hunter-Smyth and Kimball Bayer.

"Hello boys," I said. "How can I help?"

Orton opened his mouth to speak but Tam beat him to it, stepping forward to act as their unelected leader.

 

"It's about the Dog Days, Mr Butterglove."

Before I go any further I should give you a rough idea about these so called Dog Days. They are yet another canine tradition. It might be local to our region but it was adopted by our community long before I was born. They tend to be in the warmer summer months and they are occasions when a pup decides how they want to spend their life as a dog. It isn't age specific. Unlike most of the grassland dogs the Seadog family tend reject the majority of these traditions - especially in Horatio's case. His son Drake Seadog wanted to tinker with boats from an early age and that led him to attend nautical college. He didn't wait for a Dog Day.

Exactly how I could help with the three pups in my living room remained to be seen. I didn't have long to wait.

"Orton told us that you weren't always a songwriter," Tam explained. "That you used to work for the Henry-Lloyds doing office work."

"That's right," I said, wondering where this was going. "Henry-Lloyd Construction.  Do you want to know about what I did there?"

"Not really, Mr Butterglove," said Tam. That was telling me!

Fergus joined Tam. "It's just that you changed your job. We want to know if it was hard changing. If we say what job we want to do as part of a Dog Day we're worried what would happen if we changed our minds."

"Be stuck doing the wrong job," said Tam.

"I think my uncle Hubert would like me to join the Huckleberry family business," said Kimball,  "but I don't know if I want to. Yet."

"I think it relates to apprenticeships," said Orton trying to explain. "I think Tam and the others are worried that they'd have to stick with whatever job they chose on their Dog Day even if they changed their mind."

"I don't know what I want to be," said Tam, "so I don't really think I should choose yet."

Fergus looked at me. "I know lots of pups follow the family business but my mum and dad are singers. I couldn't follow in their pawprints as I can't sing for toffee." 

"It's true," said Tam. "Fergus is excused whenever we have howl choruses. He puts others off. Even Cornel. Mister Farthing lets him clap instead."

Fergus's parents - Nelson and Jeanette Hunter-Smyth - sing old standards and light operetta, sometimes touring northeast Sylvania. Whereas their daughter Rose-Marie shows signs of following in their pawprints, Fergus tends towards more rough-and-tumble activities.

 

The couple now have a regular slot at the Bear Pit Club on Wednesday nights. Finley Osborne says it is proving popular. If Fergus's voice was as bad as he claimed, he could rule out singing like his parents thereby reducing his Dog Day options.

The three pups waited expectantly, clearly hoping I had some obvious solution. I didn't. I wasn't sure how strong expectations were regarding Dog Day decisions. I didn't know if my answer was going to be of any use nor did I want to go against canine traditions. Yet whilst prevarication and procrastination aren't ideal, analytical postponement might help. 

"Do you have hobbies to help guide you?" I asked.

"I like making models," said Tam.

"Right," I said, rapidly thinking of assorted creative jobs. "Then maybe you should check out all the Mellowdene craftcritters. Like Durwood Chestnut. He works with wood. Rolf Billabong works with clay. There must be plenty you can investigate."

Tam slowly nodded. "Maybe. I'd have to do it properly though. Too much to investigate in time for this year's Dog Days."

Orton patted his friend's back. "There's no rush, especially with the Pause delaying ageing. Best to get it right."

Tam brightened. "Yes. I'm going to stay a pup as long as it takes. There will be loads of Dog Days to come."

"I could come with you, Tam," said Kimball. "I don't do models but it might be fun looking at what people do. Learning stuff. Maybe Miss Wildwood would let us off school early for the researching."

"I doubt it," said Orton. "Besides, you might miss something useful in class."

"Then it would be her fault if I stayed a pup for years," said Kimball, "taking so so long before I saw a job I might like."

"Do you really think we could blame Miss Wildwood for delaying our Dog Day choices?" laughed Tam.

I had to say something. "Do you really think your parents would fall for that? "

The three pups giggled. Even Orton's mouth twitched with barely hidden humour.  

"I think we're all going to put off Dog Day." said Fergus, decision made. "What about you, Orton? What would you do if you were a dog?"

"What - for Dog Day do you mean?"

"Yep."

"Well I like learning about the rare animals that my Mamma and Dadda keep safe..." - he paused, looking at me - "...but Pappamerle's library has got lots of reference books about them and a lot more."

It was touching how Orton wanted to balance his love for his parents and his foster parents.

"You want to be a librarian?" Fergus prompted.

"Erm... I think I'll be a pup too."

o 0 O 0 o

 

Owen Seadog was staring at me. "Daydreaming, Jacky boy?"

I smiled. "Thinking about Dog Days and something I heard from one of a few pups yesterday. I was given the impression that Cornel was one of the better singers in your howl choruses."

"Aye, he likes to sing. Pretty good at it too, though I might be biased as his dad. Why?"

"Does he like sea songs?"

"He likes most songs. What are you thinking?"

"You were wondering about him feeling a conflict with his Seadog heritage should he start to work with his aunt and uncle, a possibility given he hasn't found a nautical role yet. Who do you currently have doing your sea songs?"

"Family-wise Irwin does a bit, but young Oscar Marmalade has a couple of songs when we have to haul ropes at a steady rhythm. Are you thinking, Cornel...?"

"If you think he might be interested, I have a contact with the Purrchester Shantymen."

 

(Bing McClaw of the Purrchester Shantymen*)

 

Owen burst out laughing.

"What?" I said, "They are very good."

"It's not that," Owen chuckled. "It's the thought of Cicely Paperbark - Cicely Growling as was - and her reaction. She was surprised when her sister chose to marry me. What would she think if she heard her nephew sing, 'Drunken Dogs on a Sailing Boat' at the top of his voice? She might faint."

 

"In a dog daze?"

"Ha!" 

o 0 O 0 o

* Bing McClaw and the Purrchester Shantymen are the creations of my Sylvanian Collectors' Forum friend Florence Holiday. My thanks to her for the well-crafted shantyman clothing she gifted to me.