Miracle of Miracles
The ground was soft and warm. That meant Dad, Kevin, and I were out behind the house getting the garden plot ready for spring planting. Dad’s a farmer, and before he ever plants the main fields, he, Kevin, and I prepare the family garden plot by hand so that it’s ready for Mom.
“Got to keep our perspective,” he always said, though I never really knew what he meant by that.
This year, the first weekend in March was pleasant enough. Dad pulled out the hoes and rakes, fertilizers, trowels, and whatnot. He then came in to help Mom cook a sizable breakfast before herding us out to the overgrown patch of ground and manning us with our weapons. I drew first blood with the cultivator, Kevin attacked with a hoe, and Dad took after the larger enemy camps with a shovel.