"Dad . . . our secret mission!"

The pumpkins grew well in our backyard this year. They volunteered from seeds left from last year's Hallowe'en jack, and Barbaloot cultivated them into giant smothering vines that dominated the irrigated bed.

I planted the idea with Firstborn that this form of wealth must be shared with the community. By the dark of night, we would secretly plant seeds from this year's crop at various places around the housing development, along the trails and footpaths that snake through the various filings and under the powerlines. She liked the idea so much that I couldn't beg her off of it any longer, cast or no cast.

Tonight we did it, with a red-filtered flashlight and one of Barbaloot's garden trowels, and the tap-clunk of Firstborn's walking cast.

We smelled but did not encounter a skunk. That was useful cover, though, because any neighborhood dogs we disturbed were disregarded as still apesh1t over the skunk.