Strange Unearthing

Franklin asked the timeless question all children ask.

"Dad, are we there yet?"

Tousling Franklin's hair, Cornelius answered.

"No, son. But don't forget: we don't have to return until sunrise."

With black eyes like shining coals, Franklin sighed in contentment. These nocturnal outings with his dad were always rewarding.

Miles went by, but so did time.

After what seemed like eons to Franklin, they arrived at their garden. Solemnly, father and son gathered their tools: a lantern and a spade each. Since Franklin was only six, neither his spade nor his stature measured up to his father's. Yet what Franklin lacked in size, he made up for in enthusiasm.

"Can I start? Can I?"

"Fine." said Cornelius. "We'll see who gets the best one."

Both felt an atavistic compulsion to unearth their quarry.

They had standards. Neither liked their prey soft and squishy, so they would carefully dig them up and knock dirt off. Later, of course, they would either eat them themselves or give them away. Cornelius had taught Franklin the importance of sharing the gifts.

"I got a great one! Can we keep this one for us, Dad?"

Cornelius flashed his light over Franklin's find. "It's a fine specimen. You can tell by the color and the smell. And yes, son, we can keep this one for us."

"Thanks, Dad! Your turn!"

Delighted by his son's exuberance, Cornelius in turn uncovered an equally appealing morsel.

Being older and wiser, though, he told his son that Franklin's find was superior.

*****

On the trip home, Cornelius reflected on their time together. True, grandma's garden was far afield, and true, they visited in the dead of night, but given Cornelius's work schedule, why not dig in the dark for garlic?