Rumble: we hear the snowplow coming. "Here comes the big yellow plow," we say.
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is; there it goes by!"
"No it wasn't."
"Well what was it then?"
"It was the mower."
(Dad, you see, rides the mowing tractor to plow.)
This is a journal, of sorts, of an organic garden in SW Michigan. It is also an opportunity for its writer to vent about much that ails her. "Ut sementem feceris, ita metes." --Cicero