in the weeding department. Arvil was able to zip down
four rows in about the same amount of time it took me to pluck the weeds
from one. "If you're really sure you can spare all this..." I
wavered.
"I'm sure," Arvil answered. "And, about you
leaving in August—sometimes you have to plant things even if you
don't think you'll get to see the harvest."
I'm not sure if Arvil meant his statement
figuratively, or whether he was just speaking as a good gardener, but
his words inspired me to turn the last couple of gifted mailbox fruit
into banana bread and to put the treat back in my box the next day along
with a note to Jacob. Sure, Jacob and I would be living in different
worlds in just a few short weeks, but sometimes you have to plant things even
if you don't think you'll get to see the harvest, right?
After the drama of my first few days in Appalachia, I
was glad to spend the next week getting to know Greensun. I found
a good-looking spade and a sad-looking rake in the shed and dug up a
little patch of garden by hand. The soil was loose and dark, and I
suspected I'd discovered a spot that had grown vegetables not too long
before. I planted all of Glen's seeds and put out the tomato
cuttings, settling them in with with the help of a bucket of water from
the creek. Within a couple of days, the tomatoes seemed to have
their feet under them and to be visibly growing, while the first seedlings
were popping out of the soil nearby.
In the afternoons, Lucy and I would take a book and a
snack and wander Greensun's hillsides. Not far upstream from the
house, I found a grove of towering white pines, the ground beneath which
was mulched nearly bare with pine needles. I'd been sleeping in
the house ever since I arrived, but I wanted to set aside a bit of
privacy for when the hoards began to pour in (and also because Greensun
seemed to attract unannounced visitors). So I pitched my tent
under the pines and began to retreat to my new abode every night.
You'd think time alone at Greensun would be boring,
but I had plenty to keep me busy. The chickens wanted to scratch
up my little garden, so I had to cobble together protection out of
branches and bits of chicken wire I found lying around. I spent
another day "helping" Arvil with his plot, and later I canned apples
from the tree down the holler. The Greensun shelves were full of a
diverse array of books that kept me occupied for hours, and I couldn't
resist cleaning up the kitchen, if only to see what other gems—like
an ancient bar of baking chocolate—I'd find pushed behind the flour
and cornmeal.
The highlight of my day, though, was walking up the
hill to check the mailbox. Nearly every time I made the trek, my
previous note was gone and a new letter from Jacob had shown up in its
place. A week after I dropped off the banana bread, Jacob's
missive was particularly intriguing since it came with a hand-drawn map
and an invitation to supper at his house. It turns out that Jacob
lived just on the other side of Cell Phone Hill, and even though I could walk the long way around on the roads, if I took this shortcut, my
journey would only be about a mile long. "Or I could come pick you
up if you'd rather," the note finished. "Just let me know in your
reply if you'd like to visit. A meal is the least I can do to
repay you for that delicious banana bread."
I owed Mom a call anyway and was ready for another adventure, so Cell Phone Hill it was.
I didn't realize until I was cooking myself dinner
that there was another letter addressed to me in the day's
stash. I'd gotten into the habit of carrying ads and fliers down
the hill and browsing the local color over my meal, which is a good
thing because otherwise I would have missed the envelope that had slid
between the pages of a seed catalog and thus hadn't
four rows in about the same amount of time it took me to pluck the weeds
from one. "If you're really sure you can spare all this..." I
wavered.
"I'm sure," Arvil answered. "And, about you
leaving in August—sometimes you have to plant things even if you
don't think you'll get to see the harvest."
I'm not sure if Arvil meant his statement
figuratively, or whether he was just speaking as a good gardener, but
his words inspired me to turn the last couple of gifted mailbox fruit
into banana bread and to put the treat back in my box the next day along
with a note to Jacob. Sure, Jacob and I would be living in different
worlds in just a few short weeks, but sometimes you have to plant things even
if you don't think you'll get to see the harvest, right?
After the drama of my first few days in Appalachia, I
was glad to spend the next week getting to know Greensun. I found
a good-looking spade and a sad-looking rake in the shed and dug up a
little patch of garden by hand. The soil was loose and dark, and I
suspected I'd discovered a spot that had grown vegetables not too long
before. I planted all of Glen's seeds and put out the tomato
cuttings, settling them in with with the help of a bucket of water from
the creek. Within a couple of days, the tomatoes seemed to have
their feet under them and to be visibly growing, while the first seedlings
were popping out of the soil nearby.
In the afternoons, Lucy and I would take a book and a
snack and wander Greensun's hillsides. Not far upstream from the
house, I found a grove of towering white pines, the ground beneath which
was mulched nearly bare with pine needles. I'd been sleeping in
the house ever since I arrived, but I wanted to set aside a bit of
privacy for when the hoards began to pour in (and also because Greensun
seemed to attract unannounced visitors). So I pitched my tent
under the pines and began to retreat to my new abode every night.
You'd think time alone at Greensun would be boring,
but I had plenty to keep me busy. The chickens wanted to scratch
up my little garden, so I had to cobble together protection out of
branches and bits of chicken wire I found lying around. I spent
another day "helping" Arvil with his plot, and later I canned apples
from the tree down the holler. The Greensun shelves were full of a
diverse array of books that kept me occupied for hours, and I couldn't
resist cleaning up the kitchen, if only to see what other gems—like
an ancient bar of baking chocolate—I'd find pushed behind the flour
and cornmeal.
The highlight of my day, though, was walking up the
hill to check the mailbox. Nearly every time I made the trek, my
previous note was gone and a new letter from Jacob had shown up in its
place. A week after I dropped off the banana bread, Jacob's
missive was particularly intriguing since it came with a hand-drawn map
and an invitation to supper at his house. It turns out that Jacob
lived just on the other side of Cell Phone Hill, and even though I could walk the long way around on the roads, if I took this shortcut, my
journey would only be about a mile long. "Or I could come pick you
up if you'd rather," the note finished. "Just let me know in your
reply if you'd like to visit. A meal is the least I can do to
repay you for that delicious banana bread."
I owed Mom a call anyway and was ready for another adventure, so Cell Phone Hill it was.
I didn't realize until I was cooking myself dinner
that there was another letter addressed to me in the day's
stash. I'd gotten into the habit of carrying ads and fliers down
the hill and browsing the local color over my meal, which is a good
thing because otherwise I would have missed the envelope that had slid
between the pages of a seed catalog and thus hadn't
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