![]() In the outer office, my husband, Ero, took my arm. At home, I sat on our back-porch steps and inhaled the good green scent of spring. I thought about the flowerbeds and the vegetable garden I’d planted beyond the lawn each spring. Remember me, God? Working in Your earth used to be an act of worship, my profession of faith. Ruuth?” At the sound of the boy’s voice I jerked upright. ![]() I knew better than to jump up anymore bruises had taught me that sudden movements belong exclusively to the sighted. “I just came over to see if you wanted me to rototill your garden.” Surely he’d heard about my problem. Everyone in the neighborhood was probably talking about it and watching me. “In case you wanted to plant them this year.” “Mom saved some of the seeds from that special squash you gave us last summer,” Billy went on. I almost sent the intrusive 14-year-old on his way. Then I remembered that his mother, widowed, raising four kids alone, probably counted on the money Billy made each spring tilling our garden. “I suppose you could rototill anyway, Billy,” I said with a shrug. “Even though I’m not putting in a garden, it’ll keep the weeds down.”Ī few days later Billy was back. Ruuth.” The plastic bag of seeds lay on my kitchen counter for several days. Just to get them out of the way, I took them to the garden. I began picturing where I had planted the squash last year, along the back of the garden against the fence. Picking my way to the left corner, I stooped and pushed five seeds into the ground. Taking four steps to the right, I planted five more seeds. I did this five times, then retraced my steps, stretching to keep my right hand on the fence as a guide, and made a second row. When I came back to the porch, a voice said, “Hello, Mrs. He’d probably been laughing at me fumbling around out there in the dirt. Mom said that you might have a hard time picking out seeds this year so she got you a bunch. And…I brought you this.” Billy placed a plastic nursery flat in my hands. “What…?” My fingers touched some slightly sticky leaves. “Petunias!” My hand brushed another flower. “Marigolds!” “Right.” suddenly we were playing a game. With a few hints, I correctly named pansies, primroses and lobelia–flowers Billy had grown familiar with from helping me in my yard year after year. “Do you want me to plant them?” he asked. And I suppose you’d better do a little weeding as you go.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he and his mother had wasted their money. I would pay him a generous amount for his work, enough to cover the price of the seeds and flowers, too. To my surprise, he returned after school the next day. “Sure.” I heard clanking and banging in the shed and then he was back. “Listen, I found a ball of twine and some stakes. What if I drive stakes into the ground and run twine to mark the rows, and you can plant those seeds?” He was so enthusiastic I couldn’t say no. When he had the first row staked and marked with twine, he handed me a seed packet. “Guess.” opening one corner, I shook a few seeds into my hand. I rolled one between my thumb and index finger. Here are the carrot seeds.” He pushed an open packet into my hand. I guess being blind ain’t the worst thing that could happen.” I put my finger into it and encountered much tinier, harder seeds. But that was the way we went, guessing and planting and driving stakes and running twine.
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