Tomato Western

We spent the weekend in the garden, planting new tomatoes. It sounds idyllic, right?

What I really mean is that I emptied dirt out of the planter boxes into the wheelbarrow. Meantime, Asher picked up handfuls, stuffing it into her mouth, and then wiping it on to her top. Every spadeful I filled, Harper emptied clumpfuls onto the ground beside.

As I spread it on the roses, Asher lay down, on top of it, making a two year old version of a snow angel – except that there was no snow, a whole lot of flailing little limbs, and a lot of giggling.

With a chorus of even more giggling from her older sister.

‘Don’t egg her on,’ my eyes said. They both giggled some more.

Meantime, Suse stole moments of stillness, sprinkling the ‘Blood and Bone’ in and carefully covering it up, like she was burying a secret. (Calm down, it’s fertiliser…) With these two as children, buried poison pretty much is a secret. So far, I’m pretty sure none ended up in anyone’s tummy.

And as I stood there, watching my wife, following twelve seconds of silence, we heard the yell:

“Dad!”

We suddenly realised – the wildlings were loose and unattended. And in that time – mud and dirt had been traipsed all the way through the kitchen, and down into the hallway.

Baths at lunch time are awesome.

Thank God Harper is such an awesome dobber.

 

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