I’ve become the gardener at my own home (my parents’ – I’ve left.) because at a deep level ownership is in the articles. Kindly contributing to the communal sharing of hardships in the garden, I was mowing the lawns when the machine began leaving more and more cut grass behind. The extra mile was raking it away. I walked out back where … I was looking for a rake. I didn’t know where a rake could be. I vaguely remembered the rake, but it wasn’t enough. And a rake I found in the toolshed, which – I smiled – is kept closed by an incredibly knotted big piece of wood that must have been a chunk of a trunk right where two branches split. We got that from the previous owners – my great-grandfather and great-aunt! – and they more than likely knew the story, he maybe not she, and called it the piece of wood …


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