Out harrowing

I’d been out harrowing since early morning and was happy to see Maisie walking up, carrying a basket. A break was most welcome. I parked the tractor at the edge of the field and climbed down.
“Am I happy to see you! What did you bring me, love?”
“Coffee and two donuts. Second breakfast.”
“You just know what makes me happy, Maisie.”
I started taking bites from one of the donuts while she poured coffee from the thermos.
“There you go.”
“Mhhm! Nice and hot. Hits the spot on a cold Missouri morning.”
“Your lines are imperfect.”
“My what?”
“The lines you made with the tractor.”
“Oh. Hadn’t noticed.”
“They should be a lot straighter.”
“I must have been thinking of you.”
“Lame excuse. As if I were crooked!”
“Crooked no. Curvy yes.”
That elicited a chuckle.
“And you know how much I hate harrowing.”

– James Steerforth (© 2016)

Woven around harrowing (even though not used in the intended sense here), imperfect and lame from 3WW. More or less arbitrarily set in Missouri because cold mornings and agriculture occur there.

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