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Turtle and her old-fashioned digging stick

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Turtle and her old-fashioned digging stick.jpg Baby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsTwo bravesBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsTwo bravesBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsTwo bravesBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsTwo bravesBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsTwo braves

I was too little to note very much of what was done. I remember that my father set up boundary marks—little piles of earth or stones, I think they were—to mark the corners of the field we claimed. My mothers and Turtle began at one end of the field and worked forward. My mothers had their heavy iron hoes; and Turtle, her old-fashioned digging stick.