“Now now, there’s no need to brag,” the elderly woman chided gently, hunched down amongst the raised bedding, “we all know how lush and verdant you are.”
Worn, calloused fingers caressed the leafs of the plant she was tending to, speaking in hushed, calm tones to them. Her skin was tanned from the time spent in the sun, and heavily lined from the weather of all seasons. Come rain or shine she was out in the garden, tending to her plants. From flowers to vegetables, herbs to fruits, and trees to bees she lavished equal attention on.
“Yes, you have done well after that icy spell earlier in the year.” She nodded, stroking along the stem of one of her potato plants. Not only were the tubers great to eat, but the toxins in the seed fruit, leaves and flowers made a useful fungicide and pesticide to deal with the more problematic critters in the garden.
She wandered the garden blissful as always, collecting various things in her big wicker basket for use in the kitchen, or with her potions and poultices. The royal physician and the town healers depended on her vast collection of medicinal plants, and chefs journeyed far and wide for delicious herbs to be used to flavour their dishes.
Wandering past the apiary, her swarm of bees kept busy by the numerous flowers to pollinate, she came to one of the vast hedges around her garden to start harvesting nettle leaves. It was easy to avoid the delicate needles just by grasping in the right way. She thanked the plant for each leaf she took. She always thanked the plants for their harvest.
Stopping to listen for a moment, she laughed a rich, warm laugh that filled the garden. Chuckling, she wiped a tear from her eye. “No, no, I will always say thanks.” She told the stinging nettles. “It’s only polite, after all.”
Author’s Note – Today’s Three Word Wednesday words were brag, icy and polite.