Chapter 9I threw myself into my work in the yard, up to my wrists in dark, rich soil until the sun went down that day. I pulled enough weeds to have a sore back, a sore wrist, and filthy knees by dusk, plus I smelled worse than the wet muck I worked in or the natural fertilizer Blake and I had picked up at a local plant nursery on the way down.
Dozens of varieties of flora discovered, I was left with a question there was no one around to answer.
“I can’t imagine you’re the only bleeding heart plant,” I said standing over the one spindly, sick looking almost shriveled new growth stem. “But I didn’t come across anymore.”
Bleeding hearts died back to nothing in winter, but if one was starting to come back, more should have been, and they should have been bigger, considering how far ahead o
