It’s a miracle that we got the carrots out of the ground. The tractor had a flat tire. I got it repaired in town, and returned to the farm and a brooding horizon. Primo and I raced to put the carrot lifter on the tractor. Winds started to blow, the sky went psychedelic, the morning light turned dark like night. I lowered the lifter into the hard clay. The tractor screamed through the wind. The lathe on the lifter sliced under the carrots. Workers converged from all over the farm. They raced down the row, yanking carrots from the ground. The clouds were shadows of themselves—low, swirling. Cold pellets of water pelted us. Carrots flew. Rain streamed. We reached the end of the row as the hard ground was turning to mud. Enjoy your carrots.
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