Looking at the clock always left her lonely. She turned back to the task at hand and kept digging. That was what the board had assigned to her that day, digging and digging. Each day started the same way. She would wake up, walk over to the board to see the day’s assignment, drink a few cups of coffee, check the news, then do whatever the board had assigned. She was actually very good at her job. She wasn’t sure how she knew that – no one else was around to tell her – but somehow she knew she was good at it. Sometimes she would look over the fence and see other farmers going to their gardens and feel a bit jealous. They had better gloves or a new trowel glinting in the sunlight. She would glance at their gardens at the end of the day and marvel at the size of their plants and the creativity of their placement. Quickly she would file those designs away and as she lay in bed at night, waiting for sleep that never really came (she was proud of that – a busy mind was a productive mind) she would plan how she would incorporate their work into her gardening the next day.
This morning when she woke up the board merely said it was time to dig. She wasn’t going to lie, it was a little disappointing. Just digging was boring and the board really gave her no direction. This happened sometimes though and she knew it was just best to follow directions.
The last time she had disregarded the board things had gone terribly wrong. It was almost comical (in a non-comical way) to recall the events of that day. She had gotten up, eaten her breakfast, glanced at the board, and walked straight to the garden. She had been in a hurry (somehow sleep had overtaken her against her better judgment and she remembered being so groggy even the strong coffee wasn’t helping) so she thought the board had said ‘transplant the Agave.’ She remembered feeling relieved because she had seen that the Agave was not thriving in its current location. Too much shade, other plants were encroaching on its sunlight, and the pot was too small. She moved the Agave to a perfect spot, watered it, and took a break.
When she went back outside, she saw to her horror that the plants that had surrounded the now empty Agave spot had all caved into the gaping hole. It had not taken her long to realize what (besides not reading the board) she had done wrong that day. She had let her own judgment get in the way. That and too much sleep spelled disaster for the poor Agave neighbors. No less than six smaller cacti of various species were now lost in the cavernous spot where the Agave had rested. She bitterly recalled the panic she felt as she searched in vain for the special gloves that would have protected her hands. Failing to find them she had begun reaching and digging, grabbing the young cacti with her bare hands and laying them gingerly on the ground. Ignoring the bleeding and stabbing spikes she grabbed her trowel and bucket and transported the young cacti over to where she had transplanted the Agave. Gingerly she dug around the now thriving plant and placed each small spike in a spot that mirrored their previous home. In a few weeks, she knew most of the smaller cacti would nestle in nicely.
The Agave couldn’t speak of course, but she imagined that it gratefully accepted its lot in life. No, it might not get the most sun and it might never grow to its full height, but what a wonderful help it was to these smaller cacti who would eventually overshadow and most likely, consume the older plant. Her heart swelled with a melancholy joy at this. She loved heroes.
She remembered how she went inside later that evening and noticed that the board had actually said ‘water the small cacti around the Agave.’ To this day she couldn’t figure out how a good night’s sleep could cause her to become so confused.
She returned to the ground and began digging again. There was no way she was confused this morning. It had been almost sixty years since she took over this plot from her parents and eventually it would be passed to her daughter. She wondered for a moment where her daughter was. That was funny, for a moment she couldn’t recall whether she had a daughter. She had a daughter didn’t she? “Silly old thing,” she chastised herself, “there you go letting your mind wander from the board again. Just keep digging.”
Katenotkatherine 