"Over here are the fields. We planted bread wheat in that one - not the hard red that primarily comes from Kansas, it's much too specialized. Used for pie crusts, I believe.

"Over there was sweet corn. That one was sunflowers. None did particularly well, unfortunately." Oliver's frown seems to put this in the realm of personal failure. "My magic can only influence soil; in our caring for growing plants myself and the other farmers showed our inexperience." He shrugs and the frown disappears - there will, after all, be other years.

"The orchard seemed to be doing well. We had a fine crop of apples," he lists an appropriately impressive number of baskets, "oranges, and, ah, some sort of strange fruit I didn't touch. I couldn't find it in any book of this world. Presumably someone enjoys it."