Admirer of the Miller

The Pond

What could have been if this chaos had not come between us? I can't stop thinking about him, it grieves me, drives me mad. All I can do now is to write down these memories and draw what I remember with charcoal from the dying fire.

I remember the first time I saw him vividly since it was such an unusually beautiful and peaceful day. The harvest of rye had begun but I snuck away early that day from the workers to enjoy the still summer evening out in the forest. Leaves rustled softly as I walked and small twigs crackled under my feet. Bushes and ferns brushed against my legs and arms.

I reached a glade with fallen trees and pools of water. I made myself comfortable, laying on top of a few moss covered rocks. The surface was dry and soft and the cranberries were blooming all over, buzzing with life. Looking up between the treetops I saw the partly cloudy sky. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Feeling drowsy from the sweet, warm air I closed my eyes and just listened. I heard crows scrambling around in the trees and small bits of branches splashed down into the water beneath. Bees were humming to and fro close by my face. A fox barked in the distance.

Footsteps, branches snapping and brushing of vegetation. The sound stirred me from the haze. I thought it was a deer. It was very faint, but getting closer. I looked up and saw a tall man slowly walking towards the bigger pond in the glade. He sat himself down on an old log right by the water. He sat very still, as did I, and just looked at the water and the bugs that were dancing there.

He was fair and had light, long hair with wavy locks. His gaze was cold but at the same time gentle and at ease. By the look of his rugged hands, strong shoulders, and patched linen clothes he was a hardworking man.

He leaned forward and picked something from the ground. He looked at his find and pulled a string from his pocket. After a brief moment of tinkering he seemed to have made a necklace that he hung around his neck. A gentle smile spread across his face as he held up the adornment piece in his hand, admiring his simple creation.

I was careful to stay still, not making my presence known. I did not want to disrupt the stillness with my awkwardness. And at the same time I could not take my eyes off him.

He brought out a piece of folded, yellowed parchment out of his belt bag that he proceeded to scribble on, pausing every now and then looking up, his thoughts seemingly far away.

Carefully he put away the parchment and got down on his knees by the clear forest pool and cupped his hands. He took a sip and then splashed his face, making his short beard glitter with water drops.

He removed the necklace he had made and hung it on a thin, leafed branch, looked out over the pond one last time and then contentedly walked away through the brush.

Of course I was curious and walked over to the place he had been and inspected the necklace he had made. It was made out of a large acorn from one of the nearby oak trees. If I had only had the bravery to get up and greet him that first time I saw him. But who was I, a shy cow farmer's daughter to do that?

The Carriage

As the harvest season went by and autumn was reaching its end, I sometimes went back to the ponds in the forest where I had first seen that mysterious man. I had not seen him before in my village nor could I remember seeing him in the neighboring village either. It was like he had appeared out of nowhere and I couldn't stop thinking about him, to the point where it almost hurt.

The acorn necklace still hung there, untouched. The summergreen color of the seed was gone and it had turned into a shiny bronze. At some point I realized that he probably wouldn’t come back for it, so I took it and put it around my neck. I felt silly but it was pretty, in a childish and playful way.

My life on the farm got more busy and rough as winter approached. The cows needed to be fed several times a day as well as the morning and evening milking. The water in their troughs froze and firewood in our cottage was running low. When the winds were just about to turn freezing and snow was in the air I brought with me my little wooden cart, to the nearby spruce forest to gather some firewood logs to take home and cut.

As I was struggling with the frozen logs a small horse wagon, loaded with sacks and covered from the snow, came rolling on the muddy forest path. The driver had a thick cloak with a hood covering half his face. The gray, heavy mare was trotting energetically but slowed down to a walk at the light tug of the drivers hands on the reins. The snow was starting to come down heavy and my clothes were by now all covered in white.

The driver stepped off the wagon and put up a hand in the air as a greeting. I hesitantly waived back. He pulled out a thick blanket and threw it over his horse. He stroked the old, gray mare between the ears and she snorted content. The driver turned to me.

“Do you need cover from the storm, lass?” he said in a concerned manner.

“If you need help, that is.”

Since I was getting cold from the snow and wind I precariously walked over and stepped into the wagon. It was dark and not much space, but at least it was dry and sheltered from the wind.

Before the driver entered the wagon he loosened the horse from the harness and let her walk free. The wagon creaked as he got in beside me. He turned around behind him, lightly brushing against me, as he opened a bag of grain. He scoped out a fist of grain and called his horse, “Dapples, come here girl.”

The cart horse's head stuck into the wagon and she happily ate the grain from the driver's hand.

“I hope you don’t mind her joining us.” He said with a grin while rubbing the horse's muzzle.

The driver lowered his hood and I found myself staring as I recognized him. His hair was long, light and slightly tangled from being under the thick woolen hood and his eyes were dark green. My heart couldn't believe the luck that I had stumbled upon him again.

“We certainly weren’t expecting this weather today. Dapples and I were just picking up some grain to bring to the mill.”

“Are you... the miller?” I asked since I remember the miller in the neighboring village being much older.

“Not exactly. Or well. I work the mill now that my father passed. I am the miller's son.” He was quiet for a moment and fiddled with the reins. “I guess that makes me the miller now.” He looked at me with a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry about your father.” I mumbled, looking at my hands.

We sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, melting snow dripping from our cloaks and our breaths were smoking from the cold. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but I couldn't bring myself to do it when I saw the hurt look in his eyes. But maybe that was exactly what I should have done.

“Your father must have meant a lot.”

“He was a rough man as millers go, but he did have a good heart. I left my life as a brewer to come back to the mill when he got ill. The old man deserved no less.” The miller scoffed. “I do miss the brewing business though. It was a breath of new life from the slow, farming labors. But as long as I get to brew some of my special Miller’s Mead, all is well.”

He smiled slightly, then he caught sight of the acorn necklace hanging around my neck.

“That necklace...” He paused.

When I realized, my cheeks blushed and I cursed myself that I still had it, although now I am very glad I kept it. I stammered: “I...I found it by…”

“The ponds in the forest.” He said slowly and looked curiously at me.

“I actually saw you there.” I quickly confessed. “And I...” I started fiddling with the knot of the necklace.

He put up his hand in the air to stop me before I could take it off.

“Please, keep it.” He laughed heartily and gently pet Dapples, who was standing half asleep. “Now, where to? Let me drive you. The storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.” He backed up his horse and hopped out of the wagon.

“That’s very kind. But I need to bring the firewood home.” I excused myself.

“Dapples might be an old mare, but she doesn't mind a little bit of extra cargo.” The miller winked, and refastened Dapples to the wagon, and proceeded to load the firewood. I felt a bit overwhelmed by this kindness and quickly sprung to my feet to help him, saying thank you again and again.

We got into the carriage, our clothes completely covered in snow. The miller asked his horse to move forward in a slow trot. Despite the cold, I found the wintery landscape delightful. The snowflakes tickling the skin of my face and the fresh bite in the air. Come to think of it, it is probably winter on the surface now. If there only was a way to feel the snow again.

I had a piece of parchment in the pocket of my skirt which I used to make a sketch of Dapples trudging through the snow. The miller glanced at the paper and I shyly showed him the drawing. His eyes brightened.

“Beautiful. In a way it’s like... a poem without words, isn’t it? I… I used to write poems.”

He slowed down Dapples at a sharp turn in the road.

“I saw you writing something, when I saw you there, at the pond.” I remarked, folding the parchment again and then pulling the cloak tighter around me.

“That was the first time I wrote after many years of not writing at all.” He noticed the curious spark in my eyes.” I know what you are thinking. It has been a long time since I wrote something worth reading. I could not bore you with my nonsense.”

He seemed a bit embarrassed so I left it at that. Perhaps he had never shared these things with anyone before.

“If you say so. Another time then.” We briefly looked at each other, smiling shyly.

We rode off down the road as the snowstorm seemed to be waning. My skin was cold, but I felt warm on the inside all the way home. His presence made me feel so comfortable and safe in a way I had not felt before.

The Mill

In early spring when it was almost time to sow the rye I was herding my family's three cows through the woods of the neighboring town. I had my cowherd staff, guiding them through the trees, letting them eat off the sparse, sprouting grass that was growing there.

I stood leaning on my staff, looking out over the town below, seeing the townsfolk going about their business. Smoke was rising from the cottages, the sweet smell of fresh bread wafted through the air, and the white sails of the mill were cheerfully spinning in the bright sky.

From a distance I saw the miller carrying sacks of grain from a wagon into the mill. He was moving vigorously, not stopping to take a break. He greeted some townsfolk on their way into town and then moved the horse and cart out of the way before he disappeared into the mill.

I was awoken from my daydream, hearing the cows from a distance. The three of them were heading out on the fields. With hurried steps I went out after them but alas they were full of spring energy and cheekiness and just kept running ahead of me. Remembering this now, as I sit here in the cold mountain, I realize how much I really loved those animals, even when they were that naughty.

They were stopped by a ditch between the mill and the field and I finally got to them. I got in between them and tried to turn them but ended up startling them. One by one they scrambled down and through the ditch to the other side, pushing me off balance and shoving me into the mud. I can still remember the taste and the awful feeling of my feet sinking.

I saw the cheeky heifers running, skipping, and leaping along, headed to the bright green, sunkissed grass on the hill by the mill. Desperately I tried to group them together but at this point they were all way too mischievous. They ended up scattering, one of them stomping in through the door of the mill. I was staring in disbelief. There was a commotion, the sound of crashing wood, and a cloud of flour flying out the door quickly followed by a ghostly looking cow covered in white flour, bellowing and coughing.

Out from the settling flour stumbled the miller with a wooden shovel in hand and dusty sleeves rolled up to the elbows, swearing, “Damned cow, where did you come from? Shoo!”

He hesitated when he noticed me and looked me up and down. “Please, herd your animals somewhere not near the mill.”

“They got away and...” I started, flustered.

He chuckled and raised an eyebrow when he recognized me. “So you are having a bad day as well aye... cowherdess?” He laughed and brushed the flour off his chest. “Last time we met in a snowstorm, now you brought cow mayhem and took a mud bath.” He put the small, wooden shovel on his shoulder.

“Your four legged friend here knocked down two sacks of spelt flour and knocked the lever from the wooden axle. Jammed it completely...”

The sails of the mill made a pleasant low, muffled sound as we stood looking at each other. I need not to say that I was beyond embarrassed at that point, just hopelessly standing there, messy, cold, and without cows. But his smile comforted me and ensured that he wasn't too mad.

“The mill will be fine. The brakes are on. Let me help you gather your wild animals.” He looked slightly amused as he grabbed a rope from the wall in the mill.

We managed to gather the cows into the horse pasture nearby. He noticed I was shivering from the cold, wet clothes I was wearing so he brought me inside the sparsely lit mill. It was quite loud inside from the wooden machinery still spinning.

“We had dairy cows when I was little” He mentioned, looking at me, understanding. “They always got into trouble. Can't live with them and can't live without them” He put his thick woolen mantle around my shoulders when I sat down. It was still warm from his body. The hood was too big and messed up my hair. He lightly brushed a lock out of my eyes.

He grabbed a wooden hammer and started working on the dislocated machinery. I kept stealing glances at him as he worked. “You are staring.” He mumbled looking back at me. “Come and help me instead.”

We managed to get the mill's machinery in working order again and the Miller declared he needed a drink. He proudly brought out a jug of his home brewed Miller’s Mead that we shared. It was delicious, a rich taste of honey, hops, grain, and spices. Fit for a noble! Sadly, I doubt I will ever get to taste it again.

The alcohol soon turned our slightly awkward talk into soft hearted banter. I asked him about his poems that he had mentioned on our last encounter and after much persuasion he brought out a couple that he had written.

A slight bit of nervousness showed in his eyes when he told me that no one else had heard them before and he ran his hand through his hair several times as he started reading out loud.

“I like how they describe little details in life in such a simple but beautiful way.” I said as he took a brief pause. He seemed relieved to hear this and regained his courage to keep reciting.

“You might recognize this one.” He said softly, looking at me and shared his words as he had memorized.

Acorn on a string. Isn't it a delightful thing?
A great oak tree born from a small seed.
Growing slowly but steadily.
Silently saying, ”This is but all I need.”
I carry this one acorn with me.
It reminds me of what small things hold.
And thus it makes me stronger and bold.

I brought out the acorn that was still hanging around my neck. The miller nodded silently.

“I would like to see you again soon. There are so many odd rumors going on out in the villages.” He said and pulled me into a light, warm hug. “And I really don’t mind taking care of you, cowherdess.”

“I’m sure they are just rumors.” I said blushing. And oh, how wrong I was saying that.

That sunny spring day was the last time I ever saw the miller. Only a week after we had met in the mill, the gathering and evacuation of villagers and townsfolk started. I so dearly hope that the miller is safe in a shelter like I am, so that we might have a chance of finding each other again when all this is over. If ever. I still have that acorn, hanging close to my heart. It reminds me of what I have lost, but it also it gives me hope. However slight it may be.