Gratitude A month ago I knew nothing about picking potatos. I stood there on the side of the road contemplating Grandpa driving away from his garden, a grin on his face, a shovel in my hand, dread seeping from my pores at the task I'd accepted.
Some people take care of cats or plants while neighbors or loved ones enjoy vacation.
I was going to tend to Grandpa's vegetable garden. There they lay, in broad brown sweeps, sagging along the ground in neat rows. Dead potato plants. I took a perfunctory bite out of the ground with a trowel. Another stab, and another stack of mud.