Page 53 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby

Dug from the land.

Cho.

Lost is the harvest

But we’ll find a way

To keep the wintry winds at bay!

Shape the loaves

Each by hand

to cover the baled straw

As it stands.

cho.

Oh, you’ve got a headache

Bet it’s true

From drinking too much

Tullamore Dew.

There are sounds of general laughter, and I realize that most of the people mixing mud are young adults, ranging from around sixteen to maybe thirty. More than a few of them might have sampled the famed Irish whiskey.

The chorus follows, then another verse:

“Cut those bottles

Spang in two,

Make some windows,

To let light shine through.

Farther ahead, we can see a work brigade doing exactly that — cutting bottles in half, then taping them together with some sort of industrial tape.

An older man with a long pigtail is manning the table saw where the bottles are being cut, while masked workers pick the bottle halves off a conveyor. There are all sorts of bottles — white, clear, brown, green, and occasionally, blue. As we watch, I point out to Kate, “Notice how he tries to always cut two of the same shape? That makes it easier for the people making the bottle bricks to join them together.”

“Bottle bricks? Who came up with that?” Kate asks.

I shrug. “I have no idea. We could ask James, I guess.”

“What are they going to do with them?” she inquires. Then adds, “Using one part straw, that’s not going to use up much of the ruined wheat.”

“That’s certainly true. But come on up to the building site. James is going to be mad at me, because he wanted to surprise you, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

I want to grab Kate’s hand and pull her up the path, the way Cece might. But we have not made our relationship public, and I don’t want to embarrass her. Still, I am bursting with excitement as we draw near the construction area.

The structure is built low and wide, with the tallest part facing south. It uses post and beam construction, with stacked bales of tightly baled straw making up the walls. The north side of the building sweeps low, as does the east and west, with gambrel that will allow the wind to flow over the structure, rather than bear down upon it.

“Not tornado proof,” I say regretfully, “but we’ve got an earth bermed structure planned that just might be. And don’t worry. One of the first things we built here was a spider-free storm shelter.”

Kate laughs. “I am glad of that. Even the new, improved cellar at the old Bailey homestead still has spiders.”