Makin' Berry Liquor and things.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Berry by Berry

A few weeks rolled by like slow thunder—steady, but always hummin’. The corn mash had been fermenting nicely, the barley patch was strong and green, and the hops were curling up their twine like old friends. But what caught me off guard was the berry bushes.

I hadn’t expected another crop this soon. I was out back checking the irrigation valves when I looked over and saw them—plump little jewels, bursting in clusters so thick the branches bowed. Blue ones, deep as ink. Reddish ones with a tart kick. Even a patch of golden things I swore hadn’t been there before.

I hollered for Uno, Dos, and Quattro. “Get your buckets and gloves. We’re harvestin’ again.”

Quattro whistled low. “Didn’t we just do this?”

“Yup. But I guess the sun here don’t take breaks.”

We gathered basket after basket of berries, our hands stained dark like we’d been paintin’ with ink. By the time we brought them to the prep table, I already had an idea simmerin’.

I scratched at my beard and leaned back. “Boys, reckon we ought to make berry liquor. Gus’s got a soft spot for the stuff. I only tried it once back on Earth, but I figure this here is the perfect place to try again.”

Uno blinked. “You sure? You said it near exploded last time.”

“That’s why I’m not lettin’ it outta my sight this go-round.”

We hauled the berries to the big copper still, cleaned it real good, and loaded it slow. First was the smashin’—the boys took turns with a rubber mallet, crushing the fruit into a pulp that smelled so rich it made your tongue twitch. Then we strained out the skins and seeds with old mesh bags and a few bits of Lu’s unused curtain rod.

The juice went into the fermenting tank with sugar, yeast, and just a touch of wildflower honey.

I kept my hands on everything. “This stuff’s fussy. Don’t like to get too hot or too cold. It’s gotta bubble just right. If it foams too high, back off the heat. If it don’t foam at all, stir it with a wooden spoon—not metal.”

Dos peered into the bubbling mix like it might jump out and bite him. “This looks alive.”

“It is,” I said. “In the good way.”

We took shifts that night, checking the pressure valve, logging the temperatures. By morning, we had a couple barrels’ worth ready to distill. I let Dos man the flame while I showed Uno how to siphon the run-off into glass jugs.

Once it cooled, we tasted a drop each.

“Ow!” Dos yelped. “It bites!”

“Good,” I said, nodding. “It means it’s workin’.”

By sundown, we’d bottled six full growlers and sealed ‘em tight with wax and string.

I loaded them into the cart and scribbled Gus’s name on a tag. “He’ll get the first sip. Might even trade us another barrel of barley for the next batch.”

Lu passed by on her way to the pantry, paused, and sniffed the air. “You made berry hooch?”

“Berry liquor,” I corrected. “Fancy stuff.”

She smirked. “Just don’t give any to Seis. Last time he drank apple mash, he thought the chicken coop was haunted.”

I chuckled and tucked the jugs into the crate. “Noted.”

That night, I sat out front with the old radio hummin’ low, the sun behind the clouds just peeking through the dome’s curve.

The land was strange, the days were endless, but somehow, I was startin’ to feel like I belonged to it.

Berry by berry.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dust and Dreams

The sky was still the same old shade of storybook blue, bright and endless, like someone had nailed a painting to the dome of the world and forgot to ever take it down. I’d gotten used to it, though I still hadn’t figured out how to stop checking the time every couple hours like the sun was ever gonna set.

We were deep into a rhythm now. Eight boys called my farm home, and somehow, the place didn’t feel too crowded. With Nueve and Dies joining the others, the work got done faster—but the noise doubled. I never thought I’d miss the quiet, but then again, I never thought I’d be raising a field team in space either.

I found myself in the orchard that day, not picking or pruning—just sittin’ on a stump, watching the chaos unfold. Quattro and Seis were trying to build a fruit basket pulley system using rope, a ladder, and a whole lotta imagination. Uno and Dos were off by the shed, arguing again—this time about how long to let the hops dry before the next batch of pilsner. Tres had taken to painting numbers on barrels with a brush he made from chicken feathers. And Dies? Well, he was taggin’ along with Lu, carrying her gardening tools like he’d been her assistant his whole life.

The sight warmed me more than I cared to admit. Not too long ago, I’d been dragging myself through days just trying to get the basics done. Now I had a crew. A messy, cheerful, impossible crew.

Later in the barn, I stumbled on Nueve curled up against a stack of seed sacks, flipping through a book I’d brought from Earth but never really cracked open.

“You like that one?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

He blinked up at me, startled. “Didn’t know it was yours. Sorry.”

“No harm. Just surprised you found it. Bit dry, that one.”

He shrugged. “I like it. It’s got real words. Makes me think.”

I nodded and tossed him a piece of dried mango. “Well, keep thinkin’. And don’t miss supper.”

I wandered back out, smiling like an old fool. Between crops and brewing and bee stings and busted tools, something real was growin’ here. Not just roots—but people. A kind of family I didn’t expect.

That evening, while the boys cleaned up and the air smelled like roasted pecans and damp hay, I sat with Lu on the porch. She held a little bottle of berry liquor in her hand—the latest test batch for Gus’s saloon.

“Not bad,” she said after a sip. “A little sweet.”

I took a swig and made a face. “Tastes like a jam sandwich got into a bar fight.”

She laughed, and we sat for a spell, watching the ever-golden horizon fade just slightly pink. The closest we ever got to a sunset.

“You think your wife would’ve liked it here?” she asked softly.

The question sat with me a minute.

“Maybe,” I said, finally. “She liked hard work. Liked helping people, even when they didn’t deserve it. But I think this… this woulda been a whole lot for her to take in.”

Lu nodded. “It’s a whole lot for any of us.”

We fell quiet again, just the hum of bugs and rustle of wind in the pecan trees keeping us company.

Then Lu said, “Tomorrow, let’s take a morning off. Sit with the boys in the orchard. Just… be.”

“A day off?” I snorted. “Who’s gonna mind the pigs and mash and weeds?”

“They will. They’re capable. And you need it.”

I leaned back and grinned at her. “Fine. One morning.”

“Good,” she said. “I’ll bring pie.”

And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow, we’d pause. Watch the world not turn, drink a little sweet cider, and maybe let ourselves believe this strange new home had always been waiting for us.