1st Year, 1st of Hematite:
Spring is over; we've made it to Summer. I can tell that the peasants feel a slight twinge of pride knowing that, considering their collective lack of experience, they've actually survived a season away from civilization. I for one am not going to let myself get cocky over such an early accomplishment; our struggle has only just begun.

We've dug out large rooms for stockpiling of our goods, a task which is still incomplete. At first, I thought it was out of generosity that the government gave us so many barrels of drink, but now I'm beginning to think that it was just to stall our progress by having the six peasants stay preoccupied with lugging around the barrels.

Whilst the peasants were carrying the supplies inside, I was hard at work making tables, chairs, and doors in the workshops. At first, they seemed—for some reason—angered that I refused to help them lug around barrels of rum, but their complaints were silenced when they began to have chairs to sit upon. We've also begun preparing to slaughter our horse, and I'd like to have every part of it be put to use: meat, bones, fat, hair, &c.. The ass, being female, can provide us with milk and cheese; the horse, presently, just takes up space.

The peasant's dining hall has been set up, and it currently serves as our meeting hall. Conveniently, it is right across from my own office, in which I place
my table; no need to eat with the peasants.
I must confess that I actually have
two tables and
two chairs. I didn't think it was much of a problem, but apparently one of the peasants did, he confronted me about it.
Peasant: "Why do you get two tables and chairs when the rest of us only get one each?"
Me: "Well, it's all a matter of symmetry."
Peasant: "What?"
Me: "Well, the entrance to my office is two spaces wide, so if I had only one table it would look awkward and uneven."
Peasant: "Is that really important now?"
Me: "Important enough for me."
If memory serves, the peasant just groaned and left after that. I don't think that these peasants were ever formally educated, seeing as they don't seem to comprehend the importance of symmetry.

Our jail is right next to my office. Mostly built to send a message to the peasants, it presently consists of a rope and a wooden door. It's hardly what I'd use for a raging lunatic, but it's the thought that counts, I suppose.

Apparently, plump helmets grow just fine in the sand. We have a small farm to grow food, so hopefully we won't have a problem in that regard.
I'm going to try to get some traps set up. I didn't see any myself, but a couple of the peasants reported seeing a giant desert scorpion crawling about outside. From what little I know about such exotic creatures, getting stung by one doesn't tend to lead to a long life.