One of the stories I am working on is called ‘Whistlepig’ …
Nana was not pleased to see us coming up the driveway. I saw her first as she stood in the red earth of the field. She wore a pink dress and over top an apron. Beside her on the ground was a cloth. She would thrust the fork into the ground and then turn it over. Now and then she would stoop to chuck something onto the cloth. It was one of those times that she had stopped that she saw us coming up her road. The driver of the wagon seemed to hunker low and tried to turn up the collar of his coat despite the early May warmth. We jounced along the rutted road to the squeaking of the wagon’s springs. Momma waved with her big brimmed hat and called out a ‘Yoo hoo’. It was merry as a picnic in her mind. But I saw nana’s face as we drew nearer, and if I’d had any doubt about our arrival the way she rammed the turning fork home left no question. Nana was not pleased to see us at all.