"How much should these seed potatoes weigh?"
"30 to 40 grams."
"Grams...? What's that?"
"I don't know either. I heard 30 grams is about 1 ounce."
"Hmm... I don't understand why they don't use convenient ounces and drams instead of these strange units."
"Watch your mouth. If you're not careful, you might get kicked out without even getting a single potato. I heard they're only using grams for weight from now on."
"What's that all abou—"
"I think I just heard talk about drams and ounces."
"...Nemo?"
"No, that's not what I—"
"If that's not the case, then it's fine."
Ugh, what's this? I definitely slled the evil hexadecimal unit system sowhere.
Must have been my imagination.
Anyway, that's not what's important right now.
Let's look at the current important situation of our community.
"Cut the potato pieces this size and plant them in the ground! Dig only this deep to plant them!"
"Everyone, make sure to plant them with proper spacing! These are crops that Nemo himself directly distributed to you!"
The settlent of new residents was sohow progressing.
They arrived around April, which was a bit late, but everyone hastily joined the farming lineup, cultivating their gardens and securing their own food supplies.
"N-Nemo! C-c-can I skip tomorrow's lesson? I only slept for 4 hours yesterday!"
"Nemo! P-please just help with this potato field! Nemo...!"
Um... everyone seems to be living well.
Or not.
At this point, the hundred or so English people on Roanoke Island were having a miserable ti.
They were all dragged to Chesapeake Bay for the cri of settling in Arica a few years earlier and the cri of having already tried growing potatoes and other crops.
"Huff, huuuff... This small amount, only a few grams, but this size is appropriate for seed potatoes..."
"But what is a gram?"
"Just morize it without question. I've already explained it eight tis, and if you ask one more ti, I'll chop your head off with this sickle...!"
They're not getting proper sleep and playing the unexpected role of farming teachers.
But it can't be helped... There's hardly anyone else who's successfully grown potatoes.
And you all are, huh? Actually quite blessed. Just look at Manteo and his tribe mbers over there.
"Hey, you idiots! Do it properly!"
"Why are you cursing?"
"What if you eat that! Do you want to starve to death in winter?"
"Was I... not supposed to eat it?"
"You're not supposed to eat this!"
"Oh, really? That's the seed? That thing?"
"...This is driving crazy."
Currently, the native population in the Chesapeake colony is over 6,000.
Manteo's tribe mbers number about 200. The number of adults who can work is even fewer.
While each English person from the Roanoke colony is teaching six or seven people, Manteo's tribe mbers have more than 50 people each clinging to them, asking various questions.
Moreover, the tribe mbers are teaching other natives. What does that an...?
"What...? Not hunting and eating 'animals' but using them as 'farming tools'...?"
"Digging 'soil' before sowing 'seeds'...?"
Yes. It ans everything has to be taught from scratch.
Because of this, Manteo had already collapsed from overwork four days ago.
All the people who had been with for over a year had to take on the role of farming teachers. ? I can't do it. I'm supposed to be an angel.
Anyway, that doesn't an the learners have it easy either.
Many English people had thought of this place as sothing of a paradise flowing with milk and honey after hearing Walter Raleigh's indiscriminate marketing.
Those who were excited about becoming rich in the New World nearly lost their minds due to the angel's unexpected talent show and the sudden requirent to attend mandatory farming classes.
And then.
"Everyone should also quickly learn Algonquin!"
"...Why?"
"Because you also have to teach farming to the natives."
"...???"
Was it Thomas Harriot?
That friend is doing very well. He's promoting mutual exchange (farming classes) by teaching Algonquin to the English and English to the Algonquins.
So everyone in this settlent is groaning through farming lectures and foreign language education.
Phew... It's chaotic, but there's no choice.
If settling thousands of semi-nomads and those who've co from thousands of kiloters away on another continent only requires this much effort, then it's still a great success.
At least no one has starved to death or shed blood.
That's how our community is running.
Moderately peacefully(?), moderately busy.
So what am I doing?
Nothing special.
Just carrying so dicine, going around interpreting, managing various vineyards, caring for the injured, managing gardens and seeds, operating the cultivator in the potato fields, spraying pesticides, carrying building materials when building new settlents, diating when people argue...
I've just done everything.
...Sigh.
Of course, there's still work left to do.
"G-good heavens! W-w-what is that, Nemo?"
"...It's an excavator, Mr. Bacon. It's like a carriage without horses, but with arms attached."
"Uuuuhhhh...!"
"We'll move that to Chesapeake Bay."
"...How?"
"That... couldn't we make a boat?"
Bacon opens his notebook like a madman and continues sketching, while Shakespeare stands with his mouth open, pausing his writing. So many people had been called to Roanoke Island to see that there wasn't enough space to operate the excavator.
Anyway.
They say that the Central Plains were half jungle and half swamp before humans developed them? This place is similar.
Most of it is forest and swampland, so logging and land clearing are essential to secure farmland.
To cut down the trees in Chesapeake Bay and quickly clear out the roots... we need machines.
Machines that can do the work of hundreds of people at once.
Yes. If we make a barge and attach it to the back of the Nautilus or another ship... anyway, couldn't we move it from Roanoke Island to Chesapeake Bay?
You might wonder what we'd do if our only excavator fell into the sea. But it's fine. I've experinted.
Last ti when the cultivator got stuck between rocks, I was so startled and sweating profusely, but after midnight, it had returned to the warehouse. It seed that if it was considered to be in an 'inoperable' state, it not only gets repaired but also respawns.
Thank you... Fansuku Software...!
Now there's only one problem left.
"We just need to build a boat that can move a 10-ton excavator!"
"..."
"..."
"...Nemo?"
"Yes."
"That seems to be the biggest problem."
"Vicente, your problem lies in your heart.
The reason people fear sothing is because it has no form. Don't be afraid of failure that hasn't even approached yet."
"...Ah!"
I was speaking to Vicente, but suddenly Shakespeare's hand speeds up next to . As if he had received so inspiration.
...What's this? Suddenly?
"Anyway, we'll find a way. Even if we fail, there's nothing to lose, so don't be too afraid."
"But... if the boat gets damaged, we'll lose a lot, won't we?"
"That won't happen."
Um... probably.
"First, how about using these boxes that we use to hold grapes?"
"Styrofoam won't work."
"Um... why not?"
Crunch.
"Aren't the waves of Pamlico Sound very rough? It would be dangerous to make a boat with this."
But we tried an experint, and the result was...
CRASH!
...It crumpled under the excavator before even reaching the sea. Ah, why didn't we think of that?
Anyway, the problem beca more complicated. We need sothing sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the excavator, yet light, and abundant enough to quickly make a boat. There's no way such an item would be a consumable in our house...
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