“I want to dig a trench,” Nathan told me the other night, as the last glimmers of sunset were draining from the sky.
Tears ensued when I pointed out that it was too dark to start such a project. I assured him that we’d do it tomorrow. The next morning, the very first groggy words out of his mouth were “We should dig a trench today.”
Nathan laid out the trench course with the tip of his trowel. I dug out a couple inches with our trenching tool. We dug it from their hole (from which we dug out the dirt for our recent corner bed; we left the hole for the kids to play in), around the chopping block, and up to the edge of the nearest dirt pile.
Perhaps Nathan would have been satisfied with that. He was pretty occupied with scraping the edges of the trench and cleaning out loose dirt. But apparently some part of me is still eight years old, because I said “Do you think if we poured some water in that it would just flow all the way down?”
Guess what? It did!
(And yes, Ryan was wearing a coat, despite the fact that it is the middle of August. Stupid garden-stunting weather.)