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marked small , medium and large .
    â€œYou measure them like so,” Ruth said.
    She took a bulb out of the milk crate nearest to my mom’s chair. She held it up to the cutout to measure it. She then placed it in a box marked medium .
    â€œThat’s what you do,” Ruth said. “With all these crates of garlic.”
    â€œAfter this do we get to milk goats?” my mom asked. Jeez, she never gave up.
    â€œMom, shut up about the goats already,” I muttered.
    My mom pinched me on the back of my arm. She does that when I say something rude.
    Ruth looked slightly panicked. “The goats don’t need milking until, um, next week.”
    I stifled a laugh.
    Ruth said she had to go back to her bread making. My mom picked up a garlic bulb and held it up to the cutout board, studying it for a few minutes. At this rate it would take her a week just to size one crate.
    â€œMom, I think we need to be a little faster than that,” I said.
    â€œMaddie, you need to cultivate patience. Repetitive work is good for the soul.”
    This was agony. It had to be the most boring job on the whole farm. I should have been drawing my prize-winning portrait of Frida the cow.
    After my mom had measured a couple more garlic bulbs, I spotted Anna walking toward us.
    â€œHey, Maddie,” she said. “What are you doing here? You promised to help me with my 4-H meeting now.”
    â€œThe what?” I said. Anna stepped very hard on my big toe.
    â€œOh right,” I said, finally cluing in. “The 4-H meeting!”
    Anna turned to my mom. “It’ll be very educational for her, Mrs. Turner. I’m so happy to have her help.”
    â€œYou girls are leaving?” My mom looked disappointed. But she wanted me to learn all about tilling the earth and getting closer to the land, so she couldn’t really argue.
    â€œHere,” Anna said, turning on a dirt-splattered boom box. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. “You can listen to the radio.”
    Fuzzy country music came out of the speakers. My mom hated country music.
    â€œBut, Maddie, you’ll come help me as soon as you’re back from the meeting, right?” my mom said. She fiddled with the radio dial.
    â€œIt’s going to be a long meeting,”
    Anna said. “Lots on the agenda.”
    My mom slowly picked up a bulb.
    â€œHow many of these do I need to do?”
    â€œMy dad’s going to sell them at the farmer’s market this weekend,” Anna said. “So we need a lot of garlic sized.” She glanced at me. “A lot .”
    I liked Anna more and more all the time.
    â€œOkay, bye, Mom,” I said.
    â€œBye, hon,” she said with a sigh. “Have fun.”
    As soon as we were out of earshot, Anna said, “That should keep her busy for a while.”
    I may have felt a little guilty for leaving my mom with the boring garlic job. But she was the one who wanted to come here in the first place.
    â€œSo what are we doing?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re going back to the barn,” Anna said, “so you can start working on your prize-winning portrait of Frida.”

Chapter Nine
    â€œCan I see it?” Anna asked, poking her head around the barn door. I had been drawing for a couple of hours.
    â€œNot yet,” I replied. I don’t like people to see my drawings until they have some oomph to them.
    Anna nodded. She seemed to understand.
    â€œWouldn’t it be amazing if you won the contest and we went to New York City together?” she said, keeping a respectful distance just inside the barn door.
    â€œThat would be so fun,” I said, my mind swimming with ideas. “We could go to art galleries together and have lunch in delicatessens!”
    â€œAnd go shopping on Fifth Avenue!” Anna said, her eyes dreamy.
    â€œYeah!” I said.
    We both let out a squeal of excitement.
    â€œMaybe we should go see how your mom is doing,” Anna said