This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Oh, that's my tell a story alarm. Sometimes I walk into my studio and forget why I came into it in the first place. So I have this alarm to remind me. That's normal, right? I'll take your silence as agreement. Let's get to our story. It's called Gotina Plants a Garden. Take it away, Kian. Remember, there are no pictures. You'll have to imagine them in your mind. You can imagine them however you want. Okay, here we go. Gotina did not have a garden, which was proving to be a reliable source of embarrassment for her at weekly quilting circle. Every other goat had a garden, except for Granny Huffden, who was getting on in years and was well past an age where anyone would expect her to weed flower beds. She took every opportunity to remind them of this. I weeded plenty of garden beds for years. Can't be expecting me to scuff my huffs for another lousy crop of cucumbers. But everyone else had a garden and not just pretty flower gardens. Sure, they had some flowers around the borders, but these were real working gardens, bursting with things to eat. Whenever discussion about quilting stitches or patterns or the high cost of fabric these days ran dry for too long, conversation invariably turned to gardening. I'm thinking about planting banana peppers for the first time this year. Oh, you have to. I pickled mine last year. They were fabulous. When this happened, Gotina would suddenly become a lot more focused on her stitches. She would bring her quilting project up to her face to inspect it. She would remain quiet until the topic was exhausted and attention turned back to quilting. Gotrella, I love that border you've chosen and that thread. Just marvelous. Each year when fall gave way to the frost of winter, Gotina was relieved that the subject of gardening likewise went dormant. Now it was early spring, prime garden season. Gotina had coasted through previous springs by giving some well timed nods and smiles when her least favorite topic arose. But just last night, a newer member of quilting circle, Gotina wasn't even sure of her name. Gotel was it? Her name doesn't really matter. What matters is this. This new goat turned, looked directly into Gotina's eyes, seemed to look directly into her soul and said, What's your garden like, Gotina? It was such an unremarkable question that none of the other quilters even looked up from their stitching. After all, quilting does require intense concentration. Gotina paused for a very long moment. The heads began turning up one by one to look at her. Gotina coughed then, loudly, and she was so flustered, she didn't even know herself, whether it was a genuine cough, or whether she was stalling for time. After she'd attracted every single goat's attention, she cleared her throat and said, I'm going to put in some new plantings this weekend. They stared at her, blinking their strange eyes. All goats have strange eyes. Then they turned back to their quilting. It wasn't technically a lie. Not quite, Gotina told herself as she clomped home that evening. She hadn't actually answered the new quilter's question, but what she had said was true. In those few awkward moments of silence, Gotina had decided to begin a garden that very weekend. Now she stood, spayed in hoof, looking at the stretch of ground where she planned to make her garden. Planned is probably too strong a word, too generous. It was the only place that made any sense. The rest of the area around Gotina's little cottage was too shaded, so there she was. She had her spade, her seeds, and a watering pail. The weather had cooperated. Gotina didn't really care to have a garden, but she wasn't a dishonest goat. She'd told the quilters she'd be planting this weekend. So that's exactly what she would do. The day after the fateful quilting circle, she'd gone straight to her neighbor, a kindly pig named Lollie, to get advice. Gotina tried to remember Lollie's words as she went to work with her spade. Turn over the soil, let it see the sun, fluff it up to give it air. Say hello to it, to warm it up to you. Gotina went along, turning over the soil and fluffing it, but when it came time to say hello, she hesitated. It was odd. Gotina wondered if it was just something Lollie liked to do, something that wouldn't really make a difference to the plants. But then she wondered if saying hello to the soil was in fact very important, and she'd doom her garden to failure from the start if she didn't do it. Gotina looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching her. There was a crow in a nearby tree. That was all. She leaned down close to the soil and whispered, Hello, Hello. Came a voice from below. Gotina felt her heart trip over itself. She looked down and saw a worm. It nodded to her and squirmed away. Gotina's heart slowed to a normal pace. She felt warmth spread over her. There was a worm in her garden. Gotina knew very little about gardening, but she knew worms were good. It took a very long time to turn over all the soil. By then, it was midday and the sun was warm on Gotina's back. She took a moment to duck inside her cottage to find a wide brimmed hat. An elderly muskrat who lived by the pond ambled by. Gotina waved hello. As she wiped away a bit of perspiration on her brow, it struck her that with her dusty hoofs, her dirt-covered spade, and her wide brimmed hat, she looked every bit the gardener. She got back to work and soon she'd planted a whole row of tomato seeds. It was so easy. She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to plant a garden. Already she was a gardener. She felt hope brim in her chest. Gotina got a reality check at the next quilting circle. She'd only ever listened to the gardening talk with half an ear since it never seemed relevant to her. But now she was a gardener too. She might learn something. She leaned forward in her seat. She listened so eagerly that her quilting project sat neglected in her lap. And what she heard absolutely terrified her. Well, I found out why my Delphiniums have been struggling so. Did you? My soil pH is much too low. It isn't. It is. Gotina felt her cheeks grow hot. She didn't know anything about pH. She didn't know anything about Delphiniums. All the satisfaction she'd felt after dropping a few tomato seeds in the ground seemed to vanish in an instant. The conversation went deeper into the weeds, so to speak. My friend Dahlia swears by Dolomite Lime. Gotina leaned back in her seat. She barely heard the rest of the conversation. She felt completely, utterly, out of her depth. When she did tune back in, the group had mercifully moved on to discussing embroidery transfers. For a few days, Gotina did little except stare out the window at her garden bed. She wondered about the pH of her soil and wondered how she would even figure out what it was. She imagined the other quilters laughing at her. I heard she actually said hello to her soil. Could you believe it? But a few days after that, when Gotina looked out the same window, she saw green shoots climbing up from the ground. She dashed outside to get a better look. Sure enough, her tomato plants were growing. She got down close to the soil and eyed the little tendrils of green. Hello, she said, this time not bothering to check to see if she had any witnesses. She was so inspired that she planted more seeds, a row of green beans and one of cabbage. By sundown, Gotina was exhausted and hopeful. Over the next few weeks, Gotina's plants grew. They grew so well and so beautifully, in fact, that they attracted the attention of other creatures. She came outside one day to find several deer munching away at her lettuce. Another morning, there were two rabbits standing suspiciously close to her green beans. When she drew near, she saw green beans disappearing into their mouths like logs into a wood chipper. The next day, she discovered tiny little insects running up and down her tomato vines. Lolly identified them straight away. Aphids, those are. Get yourself some hungry ladybugs. At the next quilting circle, unlike many times in the past, Gotina didn't feel any nerves about the discussion turning to gardening. In fact, she started to want it to happen. She felt sure it would when the group began discussing the honeybee print on Gotelope's quilt. Gotelope, I love that print. I love anything with honeybees on it. They are a gardener's best friend, of course. Gotina glanced around, expecting someone, anyone, to launch yet another conversation about gardening. But there was an ouch when Granny Hooftin pricked herself with her needle. The rest of the group worried over her for a minute. I'm fine. May Hoofts are just not as steady as they used to be. And the moment passed. Does anyone have a good recipe for tzatziki? Gotina felt a strange sense of disappointment at not having the opportunity to chime in and share her aphid experience. The feeling faded when she returned home to find that her tomatoes had turned bright red. It was a delight to pluck them off the vine at the height of ripeness. They were red through and through, and had a perfect texture on the inside when she sliced one open to put on her salad. She had so many perfect tomatoes that she brought a whole basket over to Lolli, who was most impressed. Gotina showed up at the next quilting circle with a spring in her step. She had such a big yield of green beans that she brought some to share, and the other goats nodded approvingly at their crunchiness. Still, Gotina hadn't yet done what she'd been looking forward to doing ever since she began her garden. She wanted to join in on the conversation and feel part of the group. So you can imagine Gotina's delight when conversation about quilting hit a lull. They'd all been debating the best type of quilt batting. Bamboo is the best, and don't try to convince me otherwise. Wool is obviously the best, although then you have to deal with sheep precisely. You're making my argument for me, but after a few minutes, it was as if there had been a pitcher full of quilt batting commentary that had been poured out until not even a drop was left. Silence fell, and every goat seemed to focus in on her stitches. Gotina smiled to herself, thinking the gardening must be the next topic. And it was. Gotzilla broke the silence, saying, Well, you won't believe who visited my garden this week. That old crow, Harold, he came by to eat my sweetie drop peppers. Not again. Again. I couldn't believe his nerve. Gotina knew something about sweetie drop peppers, having planted some just that week. She straightened herself, thinking perhaps she might add something to the conversation when all of a sudden, ouch, it was Granny Huffden pricking herself with a needle again. Again, the goats worried over her for a minute, chatting about how it can be difficult to have steady hoofs after so many years of quilting. I can't seem to get rid of these shakes. Granny Huffden muttered. Gotina nodded along with everyone else. There was a pause, and Gotina just knew they'd circle back to gardening. Instead, Gotrella said, I am so thrilled to be back in unicycling season. I can't wait to hit the trails. Gotina nearly laughed out loud. Unicycling. It must be a joke. It wasn't a joke. I just pulled my unicycle out of the shed. I spiffed it up. It looks nearly new again. Oh, my needs a major work done. And there's a mouse that keeps napping in the wheel when I'm not there. I have to get rid of him. Has anyone tried the trail up on blueberry paths? Gotina suddenly became much more focused on her stitches. She drew her project up to her face, inspecting non-existent errors. She waited for the conversation to drift back to gardening. Or at least quilting. There was the briefest lull in conversation, and Gotina breathed sigh relief. Then the newest member of quilting circle, Gotessa, was it? It doesn't really matter what her name is. She turned to Gotina and blinking sweetly, said, What kind of unicycle do you ride? Gotina slowly pulled her eyes from her work and faced her interrogator. She felt heat rise in her cheeks. Silence gathered around her like a quilt. Gradually, the heads of the other goats began turning up one by one to look at her. I hope you enjoyed this story. Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed, and produced by me, Rhea Pector. My in-house tech director, Peter K, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy. Little Stories Premium subscribers, thank you so much. You are truly making it possible for me to keep sharing stories with children around the world. Thank you to Keon for the super important reminder message at the beginning, and thank you, as always, for listening in.
