It is an unaccustomed exhaustion, a tiring intrusion. I stand suddenly, deliberately forgetting that this person opposite me, whose head snaps back as I rise and whose eyes draw away into themselves, is still afraid of me, wants something from me, is terrified of receiving nothing. I move swiftly, harshly, to the door and out of the cabin. I need to put things back, feel myself free again. The sun is still beating down, almost directly on my garden; such a very few moments have passed. The hoe is still lying beside the rows of tiny corn plants. I want every moment for my work, the summer will go quickly and there is much to be done. I pick up the hoe and start weeding again, harder now, attacking the low-lying green plants that threaten, every year, to choke my food. I behead them, dig up their roots, and then I feel vengeful, regret having injured them when, if they must be destroyed, it is better to do it with gentleness. I become calmer, concentrate on digging them out carefully, just tiny baby growths, offspring, perhaps, of ones I have already taken away. I place them at the ends of the rows of corn, just three long rows this year, most of the cobs for freezing for the winter, and leave them to be picked up when I finish.

I think of the corn, when it is grown and giving food, and the soft silk surrounding the cobs, and I recall again the softness of Katie’s hair, the daughter of nine years; and then I remember the young woman in the cabin and I can feel her waiting, the pressure of her waiting. But it isn’t time yet to go back to that, my anger rises again at the remembering.

The plot of corn is finished, and I gather the weeds, there are only a few, and place them in a basket. I carry them to the compost heap, add them to the pile, turn it over. Rotting goes on swiftly there.

The cabbages will have worms again. Every year the cabbages are almost useless, and yet every year I try them again, and never learn what to do about them. But the tomatoes and the green peppers are doing well, and many of them, like the corn, I will freeze for winter. I have never been able to freeze vegetables so that they taste in any way fresh, but in the winter I need food and I eat what I have put away for myself, knowing that at least it is nourishing.