Occasionally the ranch hands were asked to help thin perennials around the edge of the garden. The greenhorn had been sent, and stood smiling beside the compost heap.
“Heard you needed help. Thought I’d get to it.”
Standing at the gate to her dynasty, Mrs. Johnson’s mind staggered. All of her precious mint and wild strawberry plants were gone.
“Do you have any idea what you did here?”
“Pulled weeds. What’s the big deal? They’ll grow back!”