Page 18 of Grounded (May Hollow Trilogy #1)

“Now, take the yardstick and measure three feet from this last row of beans,” Beulah said, pointing out the distance with her finger. “Good. Use the sticks to stretch the rope and make a guide for your row. Then plant the tomatoes along that row, three feet apart.”

“How deep?” Annie asked.

“Deep enough to bury the plant up to the first leaf. Put the plant in the hole, fill it with water, then cover it over with dirt.”

Most folks never planted tomatoes deep enough, Beulah thought. Annie had assured her she wanted to do the work, so Beulah sat in the metal chair at the end of the garden and supervised.

“We’ll need to stake them in a couple of weeks, or else they’ll fall over like rag dolls come July, and all the tomatoes will rot on the ground.”

Beulah’s knee was as bad today as it had ever been.

She had half a mind to take one of those pain pills, but she thought it might make her sleepy.

Enduring the pain to get this garden out was worth it.

She was keeping faith with the land, as she had done all these years.

Never had she missed a year putting time into the garden, even when she was heavy with her two pregnancies.

Fred helped break the ground in March and did the rototilling to get the soil ready, but it was Beulah who planted, weeded, harvested and canned the produce.

Fred was proud of her work and the food she preserved every year, but for Beulah it went much deeper.

The garden work ministered to her body and soul, much like the oxygen she breathed every day.

Before starting, they had gathered everything they would need: plants, seeds, hoe, trowel, yard stick, tobacco sticks, a rope for making straight rows, hammer and a five-gallon bucket. Beulah had put the bucket under the pump on the back porch and filled it halfway.

Annie had fetched the wheelbarrow stored in the smokehouse and they packed it full of the gardening equipment, seeds and plants. Beulah carried a tray of tomatoes and set them down at the edge of the garden.

Annie was working on the last plant, doing a fine job.

Ignoring the discomfort in her knee, Beulah bent down to the ground and scooped a handful of the black dirt in her hand.

It was the richest soil in the Bluegrass, with nothing like it for miles around.

South of the county, the soil turned to red clay, but here it was black and fine as coffee grounds.

She lifted it to her nose and inhaled the earthy scent.

Beulah shut her eyes and breathed again, remembering in an instant her childhood, laughing and running from her brother Ephraim, as he chased her with a frog in his hand.

When Beulah opened her eyes, Annie was watching her, grinning. “I never saw anybody smell dirt,” Annie said.

Beulah laughed again, feeling a deep contentment inside her take hold. She pushed herself up, trying to hide the struggle with her knee from Annie.

“This dirt holds our history. It’s like a time machine for me. I never know what memory will play out when I smell it.”

Annie bent down and scooped a handful and brought it to her nose. “Smells like dirt to me.”

“You don’t have as many memories here as I do.

It’ll come to you one day.” Beulah reached for the hoe and used it to steady herself.

“Land sakes, you worked the ground up so fine, it’s almost like sand.

We better put the zinnias and marigolds on this outside row.

” She pointed to the edge of the garden.

“I left room when I planted that first row of beans. They’ll keep bugs out of the garden and make nice cuttings for the kitchen table. ”

Beulah scattered the flower seeds and showed Annie how to rake the soil over them with the hoe. Annie finished the row of flowers and waited for the next instruction.

“Let’s start another row here and put in more green beans. This time, you’ll make a furrow with the edge of the hoe, like this,” Beulah turned the hoe at an angle and dragged it a few inches so Annie would see what she meant. “Tighten the rope, three feet from the last row, and use it as a guide.”

Beulah watched as Annie dragged the corner of the hoe the length of the garden. “That’s good.” A good straight row meant a person cared about her work.

“I remember dropping the seeds in, but how far apart?” Annie asked.

“Two or three inches. I’d rather have to thin the plants than have a sparse row.”

Annie covered the seeds after dropping them. Beulah watched as she did another row of beans and then two rows of corn.

“We’ll leave this space in the middle for more beans and corn in a couple of weeks. We don’t want everything coming in at once or we’ll be worked to death. On this end of the garden, we’ll put our squash, zucchini and pepper plants.”

Annie fetched plant trays for the final two rows.

“Space those out about four feet each so the vines have room to wind around,” Beulah instructed.

She watched Annie on her knees, digging a hole for the plants with the trowel.

It was then that Annie disappeared and instead, Beulah imagined it was Jo Anne digging the hole and dropping the plant in it, as she had done many times years ago.

A red bandanna held her brown hair back from her face, her creamy skin a little too pale and her brown eyes seeking Beulah’s for approval.

“Am I doing all right?” she called.

Beulah, transfixed by the image of her daughter, couldn’t answer.

Jo Anne stood, dropping the trowel, and walked to her. “Grandma, are you all right?”

“Jo Anne … Jo Anne,” Beulah repeated.

“No, Grandma, it’s me, Annie … your granddaughter. Come sit here next to the smokehouse,” Annie said, leading Beulah by the arm. “I think the sun might be too hot.” Beulah followed and then sat hard on the stack of concrete blocks next to the smokehouse wall.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Annie said, leaving her to puzzle out what had happened.

For a moment, Jo Anne was there. Beulah saw her plain as she saw the brown dirt in the garden. But Jo Anne was gone, having died at nearly the age Annie was right now. But she saw her, Beulah knew it.

“Here, drink this.” Annie handed her a cold glass of sweet tea. “You look like you saw a ghost!”

“My knee’s bothering me. Must be the pain,” Beulah said.

“How long have you had pain in your knee?”

Beulah heard Annie, but the effort to respond was too much. “We’re finished anyway,” Annie said. “Rest here for a minute and then I’ll help you back to the house.”

Finished. Finished gardening today or forever?

The vividness of the vision faded, although the impression embedded itself in something tender deep within her.

After a few minutes of rest, she stood to go in the house. When she did, a searing pain ripped through her knee, and the smell of earth came full in her nostrils.