It took me a while to get used to it, to actually start molding the clay pieces. But once I got the hang of it, the work flowed like water.
My brother brought water from time to time, carrying it carefully in his cupped hands, to keep the clay at the right point, not too hard, not too soft. The potter's wheel, despite being simple, was quite efficient.
By the end of the afternoon, we already had some clay pieces ready: vases, pans and jugs. It wasn't mass production, far from it. As I'm still learning, I decided to take it easy today, go slower to avoid mistakes.
After molding the last jar, I look at my brother and say, "Okay, we're done for today." He stops turning the crank and drops to the ground, breathing heavily.
"Turning that crank all day with that skinny body was harder than I imagined," he says, still panting, and stretches out on the floor, exhausted.
Observing my brother's deplorable state, I say: "Well, we're going to have to work a little hard to get back to the level we had back on earth. Well, you can rest there while I drag these raw pieces closer to our shack."
In response, my brother just made some noises in agreement.
I started dragging the rough pieces of clay closer to the shack we had built. When we were building, we took full advantage of the elevation of the creek and the banks on the sides. Our shack ended up stuck to the ravine, looking like a damn hobbit hole.
I dragged the more complex pieces into the shack. They were smaller, full of intricate details. I decided they would be protected for today while I watched how the other pieces would behave outdoors.
I spread the other pieces around the shack, aligned at the base of the gully. After organizing everything, I started counting.
In total, we have 10 smaller pieces that are safe inside the shack, 20 jars, 10 vases and 2 larger jars. Even without a tape measure, I would say they are between 60 and 70 centimeters tall. "It's quite a collection" I whisper as I look at them.
We really didn't do bad for the first day of production. I'm not sure how much more than that a professional potter would produce, but it can't be much more. However, the quality would probably be higher.
"Everything was well organized, it was quick bro", my brother comments, impressed with my agility. "So, did you get enough rest?" I ask.
"Yes, I'm brand new..... That's nothing! What I really need is a hot shower and a good night's sleep. I'm all exhausted from turning that damn crank", says my brother.
"Great, but forget the hot shower. Look around, we only have the stream to bathe in. And I highly doubt that water is hot. Quite the contrary, it must be freezing, hahaha!" I start laughing, imagining the hilarious scene of my brother fighting the freezing water later.
My brother just gives me a look with half-closed eyes, clearly indignant at my laughter.
After a few more laughs, I say, "Come on, we need a shower. A loaf of bread would also be good. Let's go, it's starting to get dark." I speak, looking up at the sky through the treetops, noticing how the daylight is starting to fade.
With that, my brother went to take a shower while I dragged the platform we used to transport the clay close to our cabin. Soon after my brother finished his shower, it was my turn.
The water in the stream was freezing, and I took a shower while shaking my entire body with punches and kicks in the air, in a desperate attempt to alleviate the cold of that water. The sensation was as if thousands of cold needles were pricking me.
After showering, I went into the cabin and stayed there, waiting for sleep to come. It didn't take long considering we had been working all day and were exhausted. The next day, I checked the raw pieces that we had left drying outside.
They were in good condition, almost ready to be placed in the kiln and turned into ceramic pieces. Perhaps another day of waiting was necessary. For the rest of the day, we just repeated what we had done the day before.
The next day, the first pieces of clay were already dry. Then, we moved on to the next step: building the oven that would transform these pieces of dry clay into authentic ceramic pieces. For this we use fresh clay and grass.
After we finished building the oven, we went for a walk outside the camp. We started collecting twigs and leaves that could be used as fuel for the oven. We even found a dead tree that would be perfect to use as firewood.
Dry wood would burn well and provide the intense heat needed to turn our clay pieces into pottery.
The rest of the process is no secret. We simply light the oven using a primitive friction method. While the kiln worked, we continued to shape more clay pieces on our makeshift pottery wheel. As the kiln roared, the potter's wheel continued to turn.
At the end of the day we had ready-made ceramic pieces and new clay pieces.
"Tomorrow we're going to do the same thing," I said to my brother, as he chewed on a piece of bread. At that moment, it was already dark outside and we were inside our cabin, with only the dim light of the fire illuminating the space.
"Okay, okay," my brother replied thoughtfully. Then he asked a question that I hadn't yet considered: "How are we going to get all these pieces to the village?"
"Good question," I replied, thinking for a moment until I came to a conclusion. "I saw some bamboo trees at the place where we got wood to build this hut. Let's put together a raft and take the pieces on that raft across the creek."
I continued. "We will need to deepen the stream in some parts and remove some rocks from the path, but it will work. With this, we will reduce the number of trips back and forth to take all the pieces."
My brother looked at me, took a bite of bread and said, "Interesting, interesting."
As I chewed the bread, I couldn't help but think about the merchant who would arrive soon. Would he be impressed by our ceramic pieces? Could we get a good price for them? And there was still cleaning up the creek to do tomorrow. We cannot afford to delay. After all, every minute counts.