Six Seeds

Your grandad has a long green box on his kitchen window. Every year he grows tomatoes in it.

Today the box has new brown dirt in it, and there’s a small paper packet on the table.

“Six seeds,” your grandad says. “Six plants. That’s all the box can take.”

He opens the packet. The seeds are small and flat. He puts them in your hand.

“You do it,” he says. He holds up his hands, and they shake a little. “My hands can’t do small things now.”

You put your head down close to the box. You make six holes with your finger, and you put one seed in every hole.

Your grandad counts them. “Good,” he says.

You put the dirt back over the seeds.

He puts the empty packet in his pocket.

“They’re your tomatoes now,” he says.