Sorry to post late, but I got an emergency call from next door because The Little Girl had lost her bottle and The Girl was trying to get her to the bed so that she (The Girl) and I could visit. I hope that everyone understands that important personal interactions are more important than blogging. The Girl found her bottle, in an area that I suggested. She and I make a good team.
Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River. It was a rural sort of place that did not particularly appreciate education, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.
I have written about Dad gardening before, so I hope that these are new stories. I think that at least most of them will be. Dad did not garden as long as my grandmum did, but when she got too feeble to garden effectively Dad, who was retired by then, took over the chore.
Dad did not do things an a small way. He just about tripled the area that Ma gardened and moved the garden from the north side of the driveway to the south because there was more room. He bought a rear tine tiller from the former Mrs. Translator’s father and broke the entire space with it.
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