Longleaf Stories

full circle in the hundred acre wood

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.

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