A pound and a half in to berries plunking in our buckets Genevieve declared her footwear to be "inappropriate for farming." I abruptly found myself having less of a Norman Rockwell and more of a Pearl S. Buck moment as I slogged between the rows of blueberry bushes, two buckets of berries over my neck and a daughter on each hip.
Soup for lunch and dry shoes stabilized my farmhand,
so we moved on to an outfit change and thinning carrots at home.
It's a tough life, that of a child laborer. A sister needs her rest,
and another outfit.
Genevieve can't get enough of clothes, while Marguerite continues her moratorium on decency:
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