Shovel goes in.

The shovel goes in

The shovel goes in, and dirt lifts out. The shovel goes in the dirt lifts out. Into the wheelbarrow, you go. Good fresh dirt so full of nutrition for my garden this year. The compost pile worked extra hard this year. The worms are fat, the soil is dark red, and just a pinch of sand plus a few extra ingredients makes my garden the best in town. The shovel goes in the dirt lifts out.

Hello, Edward. Busy tending your garden today, I see. Someday it would help if you shared your secrets with me. I would love to have a garden just like yours.

My secret is what I put into my compost, Mrs. Jones. I add time, devotion, and care. Even my compost pile is shown the same level of care my plants receive.

You will have to tell me what you add to your compost that makes it so good young Edward, one of these days.

One way or another, I must know the secrets of your garden. I will borrow some of the compost, and Edward will never know that I have stolen his secret. The smell from this compost is awful. Once you start to work it, this must be where he keeps the good part of the dirt just a little deeper. Then I can fill my bucket and go. Why Edward, you leave such strange things out here. You lost your glasses and a lovely gold watch and just left them in your pile. What just hit my shovel? It will not go any deeper tree roots, maybe? Edward will thank me if I cut it out. Oh no, I must get out of here. That’s not a tree root. That’s a leg; I should leave and call the police. Where is my shovel?

Hello, Mrs. Jones fancy seeing you here in my compost pile. The shovel goes in the dirt lifts out. The shovel goes in the dirt lifts out.

Oh, what happened? My head feels like it was hit by a train.

Not precisely a train, Mrs. Jones. I hit you with your shovel when I found you poking around my compost pile. You just had to know my secret to my garden so bad that you would come to steal it at night. Next time don’t bring a flashlight. Oh, wait, there won’t be the next time. The shovel goes in dirt lifts out.

Please, Edward, let me go. I won’t tell a soul about what I saw. Your secret is safe with me.

The dirt lifts out. Oh, I know you won’t tell anyone. Do you like Mango Trees, Mrs. Jones? I know we don’t exactly live in the correct zone for mangos, but this should be an excellent spot for one, plus the freshest dirt from my compost will make this tree strong.

Edward. Next time don’t leave the shovel unattended. What a nice deep hole, a perfect place for you. Edward. Let me make it a little deeper for you. The shovel goes in the dirt lifts out. Goodbye, Edward, and you are right. This is an excellent spot for a mango tree. I will stop by to water it later—great snagged on something. Let go of me. Oh, please, no, Edward, don’t pull me under. Let go.

A hand had reached from the dirt, grasping her ankle with a quick scream. Mrs. Jones was dragged under. If ever you go and find Edwards mango tree at night, do not stay long, or else you will hear someone say the shovel goes in the dirt lifts out, and you shall feed the tree as well.