Standing in the middle of the tomato patch, I bend and pull weeds. Steadily I work my way through the plants, my head amongst the green leafy fronds. A stray tomato bumps me on the nose and carefully, I bend it around the stake to hold it up, away from the dirt.
I’m running low on stakes and the bigger plants need more than one. It’s amazing, how proud I am of the plants that are merely doing what plants do. I gave them water, earth and sunshine and now I act surprised that they grew. Really, that’s what they were going to do with or without my watching them.
I move through to the one single bean plant that grew and as I weed, I find beans on it, large enough to harvest. I clap delightedly and picking them, show my partner. He’s not as excited as I am.
They’re beans.
But they’re my beans. I grew them.
So?
Hmmph.
Now, I eat the beans instead of clapping about them.
I move back to the tomatoes, pulling the last of the weeds I missed before and tenderly stroking the small green fruit. Lifting my head, I find myself face to face with a spider. We look at each other, before I bend back to what I was doing.
I pull the last of the weeds and leave the spider there, living amongst the tomatoes, hopefully protecting them from the bugs that would otherwise eat them.
When I get inside, I realise, my hands smell like tomatoes. It’s a good smell.
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