(Continuing from Part 21)
After returning from my journey across the island, I settled once more into my usual way of life.
I spent my mornings hunting or gathering food. During the hottest hours, I rested inside my shelter. In the afternoons, I worked on my tools, fences, and other useful projects.
My young parrot, Poll, was becoming accustomed to me. I spoke to it whenever I had the opportunity, hoping that one day it would learn to repeat my words.
But my thoughts were often occupied by a more serious matter.
I had now lived on the island for almost an entire year.
When I first reached the shore, I had believed that I would soon die.
I had no proper shelter and knew almost nothing about the land.
Now I possessed two places to live, a supply of tools, weapons, food, and several animals that kept me company.
I had learned many skills that I had never expected to need.
Yet I was still alone.
No ship had come to rescue me, and I had seen no sign that another person lived on the island.
September 30, 1660
Today was the first anniversary of my arrival.
Exactly one year had passed since the shipwreck.
I remembered that terrible morning when the sea had thrown me onto the shore.
All my companions had drowned.
I alone had survived.
At first, I had considered this island the most miserable place in the world.
I had called it the Island of Despair.
But now, as I looked back upon the year, I felt something different.
I was still unhappy about my separation from other people, but I also felt deeply grateful.
I had escaped death.
I had found food and fresh water.
I had built a shelter and survived an illness that might easily have killed me.
I decided to spend the anniversary quietly.
I did not go hunting or perform my usual work.
Instead, I prayed, read the Bible, and reflected on everything that had happened.
I thanked God for preserving my life.
I also asked for strength to endure whatever difficulties lay ahead.
I had once believed that happiness depended entirely upon returning to England.
Now I was beginning to understand that peace of mind might be possible even here.
This did not mean that I had abandoned hope of rescue.
I still watched the sea whenever I climbed the hill.
But I no longer wished to spend every day in despair.
I wanted to use my time wisely.
After the anniversary, I began paying closer attention to the island’s weather.
I had noticed that the climate did not follow the seasons I remembered from England.
There was no cold winter with snow or frost.
Instead, the year seemed divided mainly into wet and dry periods.
During the rainy seasons, heavy showers sometimes continued for many days.
The ground became muddy, and the paths through the woods were difficult to follow.
At other times, the weather remained dry and hot.
I began recording these changes in my journal.
I wanted to understand the best times for planting crops, traveling, and gathering food.
My earlier attempts at growing grain had taught me that farming required careful timing.
I had discovered barley and rice growing near my shelter from seeds left in an old bag.
At first, I had been so excited that I wanted to plant every seed immediately.
But I had learned that this could be a mistake.
When I planted grain during the wrong season, the dry weather prevented it from growing properly.
I lost some valuable seeds.
The experience disappointed me greatly.
I had very little grain, and every seed mattered.
If I wasted the remaining supply, I might lose my chance of producing bread.
I decided to become more cautious.
Instead of planting everything at once, I would save part of my grain for another season.
I would watch the rain and examine the condition of the soil.
I would also prepare the ground more carefully.
I had no plough and no farm animals to pull one.
I had to loosen the earth with the tools I had made or rescued from the ship.
The work was slow and tiring.
I selected a small piece of suitable land and cleared away stones and unwanted plants.
Then I dug the soil as well as I could.
I divided the ground into separate areas for barley and rice.
I wanted to learn which crop would grow best in the island’s climate.
When the rains returned, I planted a portion of my precious seeds.
Then I waited.
Each day, I examined the ground for signs of growth.
At first, nothing appeared.
I worried that the seeds had failed again.
But after some time, tiny green shoots began pushing through the earth.
I was delighted.
The plants were small, but they represented something important.
For the first time, I was beginning to produce food through my own farming.
I knew that the harvest would not be large.
I would probably need to save nearly all the grain for future planting.
It might take several seasons before I could grow enough to eat regularly.
Nevertheless, I felt encouraged.
I had learned that patience was as important as hard work.
I also began thinking about how to protect the crop.
Birds might eat the seeds, and goats might destroy the young plants.
I would need fences and other methods of keeping animals away.
Every improvement created another task.
Sometimes I felt tired simply thinking about all the work that remained.
But I reminded myself that I had already accomplished things that once seemed impossible.
A year earlier, I had been a frightened survivor with almost nothing.
Now I was a builder, hunter, basket maker, and beginning farmer.
I still made mistakes, but each mistake taught me something useful.
As the rainy season continued, I spent more time inside my shelter.
I repaired my tools, arranged my supplies, and read the Bible.
Poll remained nearby, listening to my voice.
Outside, the rain fell upon the trees and the hillside.
I could not know how many more years I would spend on the island.
But I had survived the first.
And I intended to make the second year better than the first.