My garden crew is doing a nice job of clearing the overgrown grass and getting down to bare earth so I can plant some things Nina gifted me from her garden. I only know which ones are pinks. Nina knows everything about plants, so I’ll be fine.
Our years of neglect has resulted in quite the tangled root mass below the surface. Fibrous runners and tap roots. This from the two oldest who amuse themselves with biology lessons on clover and dandelions while loosening their roots.
Laura’s job is to go along the edges and excavate the plants the excellent pronged twisty thing can’t dislodge. Leading to this exchange:
Laura: Ooh, a worm. I don’t want to hurt him.
Grandma: He’ll be fine Laura. If you cut one in half there simply will be two worms.
Hamilton: It depends on where you cut it, Grandma.
Grandma: There will be two worms, Hamilton.
Emily: It depends on what kind of worm it is.
Grandma: There will be two worms, Emily.
Laura: So it won’t hurt if I accidently cut the worm? There will just be two.
Grandma: That’s right, Laura. Two worms.