Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
“I may be old, but I’m not useless,” says Granny. “Hand me a rake, Hans.”
Once it melts, the snow reveals a blanket of brown, dried grass.
Tangles of overgrown weeds. A mess of fallen leaves.
A few rotten logs, fallen branches, broken trees.
Looking at your wild land, you can’t imagine you’ll ever tame it.
You’re sorry you asked for help when the task will doubtless prove futile.
Cyrus claps a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got an axe, haven’t you? You can take those trees. We’ll clear out the debris.”
“Do you really think we can do this?”
Before Cyrus can answer in his gentle, reassuring way, Granny interrupts. “You wanna leave it this way?”
“No, but—”
“Then don’t leave it this way.”
The teeth of her rake capture a thick pile of leaves. Red starts picking up branches and carrying them away. You look at Cyrus and catch him smiling.
“You heard the lady,” he says. “Let’s get to work.”
There was a time in your life when a handful of seeds and fertile soil in which to plant them might have saved you. Back then, you never got the chance to find out the difference it might have made. But you can find out now. You can find if it will save you now.