It was just before supper when my family looked up at me, all of them wide-eyed. At first Belén thought I was teasing the girls, mimicking how they fight (we do that sometimes, now that we read Mrs. Piggle Wiggle). Then she saw my eyes and knew that it was serious. Daddy and I were not on good terms and I was letting him know it.
After we finished our sombre evening meal I decided to step outside for a little bit of fresh air before starting the bed time routine.
Before I knew it a little bit of fresh air turned into a harvesting frenzy! With the sun sinking lower behind the trees I started easing garlic out of the soil. Anna, my favourite garlic grower, said this was a terrible year for growing garlic, so I was trying not to get my hopes up. I pulled one out of the earth.
Then some others.
And finally, all 84 bulbs.
Soon I began singing, “My Antonia” along with Stan. He had brought out his guitar and the girls were pretending they were at folkfest with their dollies. I even started snapping pictures of the lettuce I had let go to seed. Sometimes it bugs me to see it stretching high and leggy, knowing I didn’t keep on top of the harvest, but tonight they were the promise of seeds and another season.
With the pungent smell of garlic still on my fingertips and bundles of it curing in our garage I am thankful garlic is one thing that produces terrifically in our patch of clay. And, I am thankful for days that end so much better than their middles.