HOME | DD

Description
The Farmer rushes out into the pre-dawn grey, waving her uppermost skirt like a cape, bellowing warnings as she lumbers as fast as her squat, sturdy legs can carry her--which is to say, not very.

"Shoo!" Shoo!" she shouts. It's a bit superfluous, as the deer are already scattering--bounding over the rickety fences and disappearing into the woods. She shoots the scarecrow looming over the patch a nasty look from beneath her hood, apparently feeling that it is somehow to blame for this. It has the good grace to look sheepish despite being unable to move its face.

She waddles over to the patch, still stiff from sleep, and leans over to inspect the damage. The rows of sprouts are nibbled and nipped--some quite down to the earth.

"An entire plot of carrots," she mutters irritably, "and they choose this patch."

But of course they did. They must have felt the magic welling up in the little canvas-bound roots beneath the soil, and anticipated a buffet of delights: pumpkins, turnips, mushrooms, and more exotic treats like ice cream and chocolate and bizarre potions.

She examines a nipped-off stem, and in the process of breathing a bit of healing encouragement to it--and encouragement is all the Farmer ever need supply--she pauses. The magic still pulses within the soil beneath, and although it is changed, it does not seem to suffer or hurt. Perhaps it would not be entirely benevolent to let the thing continue as-is, but no one has ever accused the Farmer of being strictly driven by her best impulses, unless playful curiosity is an best impulse. She pauses, rubbing a nibbled-on leaf between her work-rough fingers, and a smile grows beneath the hood.

Some people say that everything happens for a reason. The Farmer has never been one of them. But she'll let it pass this time, and pretend that she does.

The sprouts continue to strive over the next few days and nights, and when she arises on the morning of the harvest, she is cheery.

Something new will have emerged, she thinks. And isn't that always exciting?

--------

(new batch this week, some time)

Description
The Farmer rushes out into the pre-dawn grey, waving her uppermost skirt like a cape, bellowing warnings as she lumbers as fast as her squat, sturdy legs can carry her--which is to say, not very.

"Shoo!" Shoo!" she shouts. It's a bit superfluous, as the deer are already scattering--bounding over the rickety fences and disappearing into the woods. She shoots the scarecrow looming over the patch a nasty look from beneath her hood, apparently feeling that it is somehow to blame for this. It has the good grace to look sheepish despite being unable to move its face.

She waddles over to the patch, still stiff from sleep, and leans over to inspect the damage. The rows of sprouts are nibbled and nipped--some quite down to the earth.

"An entire plot of carrots," she mutters irritably, "and they choose this patch."

But of course they did. They must have felt the magic welling up in the little canvas-bound roots beneath the soil, and anticipated a buffet of delights: pumpkins, turnips, mushrooms, and more exotic treats like ice cream and chocolate and bizarre potions.

She examines a nipped-off stem, and in the process of breathing a bit of healing encouragement to it--and encouragement is all the Farmer ever need supply--she pauses. The magic still pulses within the soil beneath, and although it is changed, it does not seem to suffer or hurt. Perhaps it would not be entirely benevolent to let the thing continue as-is, but no one has ever accused the Farmer of being strictly driven by her best impulses, unless playful curiosity is an best impulse. She pauses, rubbing a nibbled-on leaf between her work-rough fingers, and a smile grows beneath the hood.

Some people say that everything happens for a reason. The Farmer has never been one of them. But she'll let it pass this time, and pretend that she does.

The sprouts continue to strive over the next few days and nights, and when she arises on the morning of the harvest, she is cheery.

Something new will have emerged, she thinks. And isn't that always exciting?

--------

(new batch this week, some time)