On that final morning, Charlie, as he did most days, dug through one of the several vegetable patches which punctuated the fields around the sides of the family home. Soon, if these latest crops proved as successful as the last, he would begin to expand cultivation into entire fields. He’d brought with him the plough he’d always planned on using in his smallholding back in Kansas. The prospect of hitching it to a team of strong horses and cutting furrows in this good earth was at long last a very real one. Closing his eyes, he paused in his toil and allowed himself a moment to dream a little, relishing the thought of establishing a fine working farm. Already the wheat was doing well and soon there would be potatoes and any number of Brassicaceae. His was not a labour of love, but one born
