year’s garden?” I asked one night over yet another dinner of beans and rice.
All those summers in the mountains had turned her into a farmer, so every year she tried to grow a garden. It never worked. Farming in Coppertown was like working a man-made desert. But that didn’t stop her tryin’.
“I could try to get the seeds started in paper cups and then they’d be ready to plant come spring,” I said, then lowered my voice. “Since the Company hasn’t been runnin’, maybe they’d stand a chance this year. What do you think?”
Mom looked at me like she’d just found a lucky penny—heads up. “I think that’s a great idea, Jack. She put down her fork and dove deep into the pantry. Dad and I exchanged a look, trying not to laugh. Our only view was of her rear end wiggling as she dug behind the last of the preserves on the bottom shelf.
She surfaced with several Mason jars full of seed packets. “Ta-da!”
Mom and I went through them while Dad finished his dinner. Snow peas, carrots, collard greens, corn, tomatoes!
“They’re old seeds, but some might work,” she said. “By God, this family could use some vegetables.”
Mom gave me a cookie sheet and I lined up small paper cups like I wanted the plants to be in the garden. With a permanent marker, I wrote on the sides what each one was going to be. Dad brought some leftover manure and potting soil from last year’s garden in from the shed. I mixed them together and spooned a little into each cup, patting it down tightly.
“The carrot seeds are so tiny,” I said as I punched a hole into the soil with my finger and sprinkled some in.
“I know,” Mom said. “It’s hard to believe those little things turn into big orange carrots, isn’t it?”
“Hand me the corn and I’ll get those going,” Dad said.
When the cups were done I gently poured a little water over each one.
“Now, where to put them.” Mom chewed on her lip. “They need to be right against a window for light.”
“I know the place,” I said. In my bedroom, I removed my baseball trophies and my cast from the top shelf of my bookcase. Mom laid down a kitchen towel and I put the cookie sheet on top.
“It still needs more light, though,” Dad said. He grabbed the swing-arm lamp from my desk and positioned it so it would shine right on the seed cups.
“Dad, I don’t think regular lightbulbs will work.” I frowned and flipped through my book. “Fluorescent lights would work okay, but what we really need are grow lights.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said. “But at least you’ve got a start.”
We stood and looked at the little cups of dirt as if they’d sprout right in front of us. As simple as those paper cups were, they looked a little bit like hope.
O
I watered my seeds a tiny bit each day. Dad had added two more lights from his metal shop with grow lightbulbs he bought at the hardware store way over in Murphy. My bedroom turned into a mini lighthouse every day when I switched them on before leaving for school. It made me wonder about the lightbulbs Eli’d had. Was he growing somethin’ too?
A few weeks later, while I was doing my homework, something green flashed in the corner of my vision. I had to stare close, but there it was, a tiny green thread poking up through the soil. I ran to get my parents.
“Your babies are waking up!” Mom pointed at another cup. “Look, there’s another one there.”
“And there,” Dad said and patted my back. “An artist and now you’re a farmer too?”
“Gotta start somewhere.” I smiled.
r
Chapter 17
Frog Eggs
Eventually winter wore itself out and spring crept in. The rain turned to thunderstorms. I could tell they were coming from the west because they rolled in over the smelters. Even sittin’ unused, they made the air stink like rotten eggs.
Some nights I’d sit in bed and watch the light show on Tater Hill. The Company used the waste from copper mining to pave the
All those summers in the mountains had turned her into a farmer, so every year she tried to grow a garden. It never worked. Farming in Coppertown was like working a man-made desert. But that didn’t stop her tryin’.
“I could try to get the seeds started in paper cups and then they’d be ready to plant come spring,” I said, then lowered my voice. “Since the Company hasn’t been runnin’, maybe they’d stand a chance this year. What do you think?”
Mom looked at me like she’d just found a lucky penny—heads up. “I think that’s a great idea, Jack. She put down her fork and dove deep into the pantry. Dad and I exchanged a look, trying not to laugh. Our only view was of her rear end wiggling as she dug behind the last of the preserves on the bottom shelf.
She surfaced with several Mason jars full of seed packets. “Ta-da!”
Mom and I went through them while Dad finished his dinner. Snow peas, carrots, collard greens, corn, tomatoes!
“They’re old seeds, but some might work,” she said. “By God, this family could use some vegetables.”
Mom gave me a cookie sheet and I lined up small paper cups like I wanted the plants to be in the garden. With a permanent marker, I wrote on the sides what each one was going to be. Dad brought some leftover manure and potting soil from last year’s garden in from the shed. I mixed them together and spooned a little into each cup, patting it down tightly.
“The carrot seeds are so tiny,” I said as I punched a hole into the soil with my finger and sprinkled some in.
“I know,” Mom said. “It’s hard to believe those little things turn into big orange carrots, isn’t it?”
“Hand me the corn and I’ll get those going,” Dad said.
When the cups were done I gently poured a little water over each one.
“Now, where to put them.” Mom chewed on her lip. “They need to be right against a window for light.”
“I know the place,” I said. In my bedroom, I removed my baseball trophies and my cast from the top shelf of my bookcase. Mom laid down a kitchen towel and I put the cookie sheet on top.
“It still needs more light, though,” Dad said. He grabbed the swing-arm lamp from my desk and positioned it so it would shine right on the seed cups.
“Dad, I don’t think regular lightbulbs will work.” I frowned and flipped through my book. “Fluorescent lights would work okay, but what we really need are grow lights.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said. “But at least you’ve got a start.”
We stood and looked at the little cups of dirt as if they’d sprout right in front of us. As simple as those paper cups were, they looked a little bit like hope.
O
I watered my seeds a tiny bit each day. Dad had added two more lights from his metal shop with grow lightbulbs he bought at the hardware store way over in Murphy. My bedroom turned into a mini lighthouse every day when I switched them on before leaving for school. It made me wonder about the lightbulbs Eli’d had. Was he growing somethin’ too?
A few weeks later, while I was doing my homework, something green flashed in the corner of my vision. I had to stare close, but there it was, a tiny green thread poking up through the soil. I ran to get my parents.
“Your babies are waking up!” Mom pointed at another cup. “Look, there’s another one there.”
“And there,” Dad said and patted my back. “An artist and now you’re a farmer too?”
“Gotta start somewhere.” I smiled.
r
Chapter 17
Frog Eggs
Eventually winter wore itself out and spring crept in. The rain turned to thunderstorms. I could tell they were coming from the west because they rolled in over the smelters. Even sittin’ unused, they made the air stink like rotten eggs.
Some nights I’d sit in bed and watch the light show on Tater Hill. The Company used the waste from copper mining to pave the
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