Even though most of the ground that surrounded the cottage was sandy, there was a small patch that my grandfather had tilled and nurtured that was dark and rich. Just right for a garden. Noni (An Italian word for grandmother and pronounced Naw-knee) and I had put in eight tomato plants, three basil plants and three parsley plants. We watered them carefully.
“It will be your job to make sure the plants have enough water” she wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted her glasses.
“I will, I will, Nawn” I was so anxious and willing to assume this responsibility.
I turned my attention back to my task of carrying the bucket of fish. Mine was so heavy I almost dropped it a few times. Noni came out to the back porch. She had a dishtowel flung over her shoulder.
“Catch many fish?” she wiped her hands on her flowered apron.
“You’re gonna hafta fry up a lotta fish, Nawn” I said trying to catch my breath.
“Why are you carrying that heavy bucket? Where are your uncles and your cousin?”
“They’re helping Grandpa get the boat in and Larry is right behind me. He has bucketful of fish too”
“What am I gonna do with all this fish? Well maybe the Espositos next door would like some; he’s been outta work for a few weeks,” Noni said while answering her own question.
“Nawn, can I help you cook them?” I loved watching my Grandmother cook and I was hoping she would teach me how to this summer.
She nodded. Just then Larry waddled like a turtle in slow motion up the gravel driveway, water splashing everywhere. He looked a little like that puffer fish only much redder.
“Do I hafta carry this all the way up to the porch, Nawn? It’s awful heavy!”
“Yes you do Larry! I carried mine all the way up here.” My hands were firmly placed on my hips and my chin jutted out and my nose in the air. I do everything so much better than he did, I thought very smugly and happy with myself.
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