Stockpiling (tag: open)
So it seemed she had a new pupil, of sorts. Young Rowan was a willing student, at least, if completely lost in the kitchen. Far be it for the kindly old woman to make the girl feel worse, but she couldn't help but continue to wonder at the ineptitude of Rowan's mother and grandmother. Who in their right mind felt they were protecting a girl by not allowing her to learn how to cook and bake? It was an essential part of life, unless one wanted to live on uncooked roots, or buy expensive pre-baked goods from the market.
Not that the market was useless. It was where Mother Goose was heading, as a matter of fact. If she was going to be teaching the girl how to cook, she was going to need supplies. Lots and lots of supplies. Far more than she could procure from her own garden. With a basket over her arm, she said goodbye to Osgood, the owl that stood sentry at her home. She stepped through the gate, and set off at a quick pace toward the center of town.
She loved the hustle and bustle of her little village. That was really how she thought of it. As hers. No one here didn't know her, and her advice was often sought in matters of dispute. She took no money, for her word was as good as gold- literally. Everyone knew her flock of geese had a particular talent, and that she always settled her debts. It just tended to be awkward to have to worry about how many eggs to take on any given trip. Once every couple months, she took some eggs to the smithy to have him break them down into coin that was far easier for the merchants to work with.
Working her way through the other people on the street, she started to create a list in her mind. Wheat, oats, peppers, carrots, onions. She was halfway through the fruits when she was suddenly bumped . Turning, she placed a smile on her face, intending to apologize even if it wasn't really her fault. She was just polite that way.