Goodbye to the Garden

It was May. The sun was warming the earth.

            Jannet bent down to feel the dark earth of their garden plot, enriched with hundreds of years of cattle droppings. Sifting the loam through her fingers, she remembered how comforting the garden had felt last year in May when she planted the seed potatoes.

            An image flitted though her mind. She was a wee child tagging behind Da, while he tucked  potato eyes into the ground. She patted the soil over each piece, as Da told her stories about their farm.

            Jannet knew the stories well. This plot had sustained her ancestors with turnips and kale since ancient times when St. Donan brought the first Scots here. And her own grandfather had been the first to intoduce potatoes. Some neighbours were loathe to plant them, being supicious of all things Irish.  But they came around after hearing how delicious they were. Da always laughed at this point.

            With a sigh Jannet stood up. Her body knew the planting dance and ached to begin: dig, plant, cover, step forward, repeat. This year there was no point―they would be gone in a few weeks. Only weeds would grow here now.

            She straightened her back and strode across the soft earth onto the rocky path.