Roots

"Father!" Ophelia yelped from where she sat, "what's this one?" In her hands, which on this particular morning were covered with dirt – as were her knees, feet, and belly – she held a deep red, earth-encrusted bulb. The bulb was like a tiny ball, white near the top where tall fronds of green exploded from its cap, and white again where a thin vein hung from its base. But the red, the pure deep red of its middle, was so beautiful Ophelia could hardly stand it – like a ruby, a treasure excavated from some forgotten pharaoh, and Ophelia had found it first. The archaeological community would, undoubtedly, be in awe.

"What's that?" her Father grunted from a few yards away. Mr. Chester was on his knees in the manor gardens as well, but Ophelia's enthusiasm was lost on him. Sweat bristled on his thick mustache, and his shirt was plastered to his back like the wrappings of a mummy. Looking up from the clump of weeds that, despite his best efforts, was still firmly planted in their bed of cabbages, Mr. Chester chuckled to himself at Ophelia's discovery.

"Why, my dear, that's just a radish. You can try it if you like, but you'd better brush it off first. Now haven't you pulled up enough of Ms. Braeburn's vegetables this morning?" Ms. Braeburn was the widow of the Chester family's former groundskeeper, Mick, and she had stayed on to carry on her husband's work. She was a gifted gardener, but a bit reclusive. Mr. Chester, out of pity for the widow, and out of sheer hatred for disorder, helped pull weeds from the vegetables from time to time. This day, however, was the first time Ophelia had taken a real interest in the neatly rowed garden beds. A book on loan to the Chesters from the British Archaelogical Society may have aided her conversion.

And yes, Mr. Chester was right. Ophelia had pulled up a fair few of Ms. Braeburn's vegetables that morning. Strewn about the girl were the following: some new potatoes, yellow and lumpy like clumps of gold sifted in a creek; a few varieties of carrots, precious daggers made from living orange stone, their hilts as green as jade and worth far more; and one fat turnip, its white and purple exterior signaling it was clearly from a nest of dinosaur eggs, buried in the garden from time out of memory. And now, finally, the radishes, the glorious radishes, the most valuable discovery of the day. Wiping off the dirt on her already-filthy blouse, Ophelia found that their coloring was even more brilliant than she had first hoped. She flopped on her back and stared at the blessed thing from every possible angle.

"I suppose it's good you know your roots," Mr. Chester mumbled, turning back to his weeding. He got to his knees, wrapped his hands firmly around the stubborn clump in front of him, and pulled with all his might. His face turned red. He pulled harder. His face turned deeper red, then deeper. Ophelia stopped to watch her father work. Finally, his face was ruby like the radish in her hand.

"Oh father," Ophelia cried, "you might explode!"

"Woah!" he yelled, the weeds finally giving way. The force of his pull threw him backward, laying him out flat. "Good gracious," he heaved, "these weeds will be the end of me."

"Here, have a radish father, it will make you feel better!" She handed him the clean radish, then picked another for herself.

"Don't mind if I do, thank you my dear." Holding the red radish next to his red face, he looked ridiculous.

Crunch. Ophelia bit into her radish. Her eyes took a queer turn. "Oh father," she spit the bite out, "it's so bitter!"

"Yes," he replied, crunching on his radish thoughtfully, "they usually are."

"I suppose most buried treasures aren't meant to taste good," Ophelia thought to herself. "But they are so, so nice to look at." She put the remains of the radish in her blouse pocket and inspected the rest of the vegetables and concluded that yes, they were important discoveries indeed.

The End.

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This post is part of a synchroblog (a group of people posting every two weeks on the same topic). This week's topic was "know your roots." To read the other posts, which are quite good, follow this link:

http://synchrobloggers.wordpress.com/2011/08/23/know-your-roots/