No make up. Old gym shorts and a threadbare tank top. My hair a wild tangle.
Down on my knees in the herb and weed garden, camera in hand.
And here comes our friend, Harold, his old green pick-up unmistakable. I don’t even have the coffee ready yet. But the air is slightly cool with a hint of autumn to it, and Harold is itching to disk up some ground.
“Good mornin’, Miss Beth. What’cha takin’ a pitcher of?”
“Hey, Harold. It’s caterpillars. Here in my parsley. See them?”
He started chuckling.
“They’re eatin’ ’em up, ain’t they?”
Clearly, Harold thinks I’m at least as funny as I think he is, and I can tell I’ve made his morning. He’ll drive off on the tractor thinking about this crazy “fancy” woman taking pictures of the durn caterpillars eating up the parsley.