Each day, more plants in Lirra’s vegetable garden drooped. He and Meggie weeded and watered with great care, making sure the plants had room to grow as needed. But it seemed that no matter what they did, the garden continued to fail. Initially Lirra dismissed it with a smile, explaining what they knew as farmsteader children, that some crops inevitably failed. Weak seed, she said; it was just as well such were not grown to adulthood. But the corn and wheat were healthy, tubers grew well, and melons and squash thrived. It was true they would miss carrots and onions and a few other ingredients in their stew, but they would do well enough. Without the cow, there was no milk and thus no cheese or butter. But Lirra’s snares delivered small game now and again, enough to keep them in meat. They had eggs aplenty from the hens, and the beans grew nicely. There were no true seasons in Alisanos, Lirra explained, because the weather might change from hour to hour, so she had adopted the habit of planting year round, knowing some crops would be lost while others thrived. But then the vegetable garden in its entirety began to die, and three of the hens stopped laying, and the tubers rotted in the ground.
