CHAPTER FIVE. The Death of Sir Earwig.
History is always interesting when it happens to someone else. We now come to the sad ending of Sir Earwig, the knight who put down the dragons and then fought the blue goblins to a standstill.
In the 12th century, in the time of Sir Earwig, the tranquil land of Dickendoof, nestled in verdant valleys and kissed by the gentle waters of many rivers, experienced a momentous upheaval. The Birkenstockers, a formidable group from the North, armed not with swords and shields, but with cucumber seeds and trellises, executed an invasion unlike any other. It was not a tale of blood and conquest, but rather, one of plantations and wine.
On the eve of the summer solstice, just as the sun began to bow beneath the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet, the Birkenstockers descended upon Dickendoof. They were a countless multitude, pouring over the verdant hills and flowing into the peaceful valleys like a sea of determined gardeners.
With seasoned agility and practiced precision, they immediately set to work. They tilled the fertile earth, turning over the soft soil to expose the darker, nutrient-rich underlayers. With robust arms and diligent spirits, they transformed the pristine Dickendoof fields into meticulously designed cucumber plantations. Their zealous vigor echoed in every strike of the hoe, in every thrust of the shovel, transforming the placid landscape into a vibrant sea of verdant green.
The Birkenstockers, renowned for their agricultural acumen, employed ancient techniques passed down through generations. They used their unique trellises, structures resembling webbed lattices, for supporting their cucumbers. Within days, Dickendoof witnessed a transformation. The once-bare land now brimmed with rows upon rows of cucumber plants, their blossoms promising a plentiful yield.
As summer waned, the cucumber vines burst forth with life, their green bodies heavy with fruits. The Birkenstockers toiled tirelessly beneath the sun, their hands methodically plucking the ripened cucumbers. The once quiet air of Dickendoof now filled with the sound of harvest, the murmur of voices, and the rustle of plants yielding their bounty.
The following phase was perhaps the most important for the Birkenstockers. With crates of cucumbers, they embarked on their ancestral practice of making cucumber wine. The squashing, the fermentation, the careful preservation—each step carried out with an unrivaled dedication. The scent of fresh cucumber permeated the air, merging with the sweet-smoky aroma of fermentation.
Once ready, the cucumber wine, with its unique greenish hue and distinct flavor, was bottled. It was a sight to behold, the sun's rays catching the bottles, casting radiant speckles of light across the Birkenstockers' triumphant faces.
The invasion of Dickendoof was not marked by warfare, but by the sprouting of cucumber plants and the brewing of wine. The Birkenstockers, with their numberless host, had left their indelible mark, turning Dickendoof into the cucumber wine capital. The tranquil land, under the new influence, began to thrive. A newfound harmony reigned between the original inhabitants and their unexpected guests, weaving together a tale of unusual invasion, lush cucumber fields, and intoxicating cucumber wine.
Sir Earwig, appointed to guard the kingdom against all enemies by King Donald Trunk himself, drew up a plan of immediate action. Unfortunately as he mounted his stallion to ride out to review the troops his horse was startled by a pine cone. It reared and threw him into a bramble bush, where he was attacked by a swarm of angry solicitors. He was dead before anyone could come to his aid.
We feel it necessary at this time to warn readers that the medieval Dickendoofian funeral ceremonies were rather strange and puzzling, and to our modern tastes perhaps repulsive.
Creedly the Cleric, a contemporary of the unfortunate Sir Earwig, has left this description of the rites and service:
