Page 75 of Homestead

Hopefully Jimmy will be okay to walk by then. He’ll never let me go by myself. And if we don’t show up, his parents will send someone out here to check on us.

So my plan for today was to focus on bread. But I keep thinking about those last rows of the garden that need planting.

There’s really not that many left. Jimmy said they would just take him an hour or so to complete. That sounds doable.

Surely I can do it.

I’ve never done much gardening, but I learned the basics that first month at the Carlsons’, and I’ve helped Jimmy with weeding and picking ripe tomatoes and greens.

There’s no reason I can’t finish the planting for him. It’s still early morning. I’m not feeling particularly energetic or invigorated, but my back is fine. It’s cool out right now. I can take a couple of hours to finish the garden before I start my baking.

Why shouldn’t I?

Then Jimmy won’t have to keep brooding about it or possibly make his back worse by returning to work too soon.

Having made a decision, I check on Jimmy one more time to make sure he doesn’t need anything.

He’s still on the bed, uncovered and doing a lot of snarling.

I leave him to it and head outside.

13

I drastically underestimatedthe amount of time it would take me to finish Jimmy’s work in the garden. It doesn’t take me twice as long as him.

It takes me three times as long.

Three hours.

Three exhausting, muscle-straining hours.

No wonder his back went out. This is absolutely miserable, and I can’t figure out a way to position myself to make it easier on my thighs and back.

I work straight through, afraid if I stop for a break, I’ll never start up again.

Even though I force myself not to rush or move too fast, I’m still out of breath and way too hot not even an hour after I start.

When I finally get to the end, I drop the trowel and slowly straighten up. My thighs are sorer than my back is. I feel like I might melt away completely despite the mild air. And for some reason, focusing again on the broad landscape of the pond, house, and forest instead of a tight view on my task makes me dizzy.

Ridiculously dizzy.

I breathe in slow, deliberate inhales, trying to keep the world from spinning around me.

It doesn’t work.

I end up having to step out of the garden and throw up in a clump of long grass.

Fortunately, I feel better once I get it out. I’m still exhausted and sore but no longer dizzy. I manage to pick up the tools and put them back in the shed before I go inside.

I clean up before I check in on Jimmy so he won’t know what I’ve been doing and get all needlessly riled up.

He’s still grumpy and impatient, so I bring him a fresh glass of water and leave him alone.

It’s late morning now, and I haven’t even started on my baking. I’ve already done so much manual labor I’m at risk of falling over, but I push through and get the kitchen ready for baking.

Then I force myself to start on the familiar process. Mixing and kneading and leaving it to rise and pounding down and pulling and letting it rise again and then finally baking it in the oven.

Jimmy comes trudging out of the bedroom around lunchtime, still wearing the same T-shirt and boxers. He heads for the outhouse without a word, and I don’t go with him since he seems to be walking more steadily now.

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