When the Pres told me he was going to move the rhubarb, my response was, "Not now, Honey...it's too late in the season. We'll be picking it in a few weeks."
I guess he didn't hear me because the next thing I saw was the Pres, shovel in hand, down by the rhubarb.
When he came back to the spot he decided to move it to, I noticed that the deep roots had been severed in the dig. Once again, I spoke up. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It will be fine."
Once again, my words were unheard.
Well, needless to say, the Pres did it his way that day.
As of today, this is what we have left...one stalk. Everything else turned yellow, wilted, then keeled over. However, I am hoping that next year, it will be enough to make a few pies.
just seeing, saying, and sharing...
with you and those at