My neighbor stops

My neighbor stops to watch me rototill. I halt the churning blade, we talk of mulch and weeds, of starting seeds indoors, of last year's heat and drought, of grackles plucking up the seedling corn. He goes, hands in hip pockets, I resume. Across the way another neighbor laughs at rhubarb in between the rows of flowers, at lettuce sprouts beside the pansy blooms -- at my ``truck farm.'' But one's own peas are sweeter, pumpkins a weightier matter. His fingers have not freed new bean seed leaves. He does not know the shock of chopping dock, nor that it is a ritual, a celebration of the budding year -- and he watches baseball, too.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK