“Compost is over there,” Cassie said, pointing. “And the good stuff is this way.” She gestured me inside; grabbing the wheelbarrow, I pushed forward.
The garden was lush with color and overflowing with crops. Rows of raised beds greeted me, each teeming with growth; bright-yellow squash, dark-green bell peppers, red and purple heads of cabbage. Cucumber vines hung from climbing trellises; tomato plants grew inside cylindrical cages, their green and red fruit visible from within. Elevated planters sat covered in greenery, each one labeled with a sign detailing its contents: CHARD. ROSEMARY. PARSLEY. DILL WEED. It was nothing short of a rainbow—a well-organized, properly constructed rainbow.
“Are you any good at growing?”Cassie asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I like plants. I mean, I like nature and stuff, but I’ve never tried growing anything before… ”
“My mom loved plants,” I continued. “She had a lot of houseplants but they never lasted very long. My dad used to tease her and tell her she loved her plants to death.”
Cassie threw her head back, laughing. “So I’ll be working with a black thumb, then?”
“A black thumb?” I asked.
Glancing back at me, she smiled warmly. “It’s the opposite of a green thumb.”
A nervous laugh escaped me. “Oh. Yeah, maybe.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do with you. Leisel mentioned you’re good at identifying plants?”
“Yeah, sort of. My, um, my boyfriend’s mom used to garden. She taught him a few things and he taught me. Mainly what’s edible and what’s not.” I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat and shrugged.
“Invaluable information to have in these unprecedented times,” Cassie replied. “I’m guessing bugs and dirt don’t bother you?”
“No, not at all. I actually kinda like bugs. They’re just trying to survive, same as us… ” I trailed off as we approached several small trees, their spindly branches hanging heavy with bright-red apples. They were young trees, stabilized by thick wire wrapped around their trunks, affixed to wooden posts on either side. I slowed as we passed, staring at the juicy-looking fruit.
“Red Delicious,” Cassie said, laughing again. “Just about ready for picking, too. How do you like your apple pie, Willow? Hot or cold?”
I stuttered and stammered through my answer, much to Cassie’s amusement. “We’ll start with hot and go from there,” she said. “You don’t mind honey in your pie, do you?”
“Honey?” I repeated dumbly.
“Sugar is a hot commodity these days, and we haven’t come across any in a long time. So I use honey in all my baked goods. We have our own apiary, behind the horse stable, though no one dares go near it but me.”
Apple pie. Honey. Baked goods. An apiary. I comprehended what Cassie was saying, and yet, I couldn’t fathom it. Apple trees were one thing, but warm apple pie with fresh honey was on a whole other level.
“We’ll be working just up there.” Cassie gestured ahead. “Potatoes and squash are ready for harvest.”
To the left were several farmed rows covered in bright-yellow squash growing along leafy vines. To the right were dozens of raised beds containing sprawling bushy plants, some of them sprouting tiny blue flowers.
“You too, Ella!” Cassie called out. “Over here, please—squash and potatoes today.”
Glancing back, I found Ella trudging up behind me, violently shoving her wheelbarrow along. Her long blonde hair was tied to one side in a thick braid and, although her expression was partially hidden behind large sunglasses, the flat line of her mouth gave the distinct impression that she was unhappy. Dropping her wheelbarrow with a thud, she said, “Newbs always get the shit jobs.”
Cassie remained smiling. “Very true, Ella. I like to start everyone off with the hardest tasks; makes you more grateful for the easy ones.” Looking at me, she said, “Don’t mind Ella, she’s always grumpy in the morning.”
“Whatever,” Ella snapped. Reclaiming her wheelbarrow, she marched off in the direction of the raised beds.
“See those first twelve beds?” Cassie continued on jovially as if Ella’s temper tantrum was an everyday occurrence. “Those are my early bloomers—they all need to be harvested today. The main crop will be ready by the end of summer and everything after that will be ready around Christmastime.”
Signaling me to follow, Cassie continued, “Now, the best way to dig up potatoes is to use your hand and very gently pull up the whole plant. Go slow and be careful—you don’t want to break the stem.”
Cassie bent down beside a bed, pulling a trowel from her back pocket. Using the tool, she loosened the soil around the plant; setting the trowel aside, she dug her hands into the soil, and slowly pulled up the entire plant. Once free, I counted eight potatoes hanging from their mother, all varying in size. One by one, Cassie carefully plucked six of them, placing them in the wheelbarrow.
“Then we put it back and let the little ones grow some more,” she said, repotting the plant with quick, sure hands. “And we say a little prayer of thanks.”
Straightening, Cassie held out the trowel and nodded at the next plant. “Now you try.”
Reluctantly, I took the tool and bent down beside the bed. Knees planted firmly in the dirt, I began digging carefully around the plant. Once the soil was loose, I dug my fingertips around the base, feeling my way down until I couldn’t feel any more plant. Taking a breath, I tugged slowly upward, mindful of the roots, revealing a bounty of fresh, fat potatoes.
