Jus' fishin.(Editorial)(Editorial)

The damp musky smell of rich dark earth, the cool pleasant texture as it fell through my fingers, and caked black beneath my fingernails wasn't just "diggin' worms." It was high expectations: The beginning of a late summer afternoon adventure. I was on my hands and knees with an empty soup can as Grandpa manned the pitchfork in the cool pine-shaded flowerbed just outside the door to Grandma's kitchen. Grandma always dumped her coffee grounds there to fertilize the tiny white flowers of Lily of the Valley edging the north side of the house. And Grandpa and I always dug up her flowerbed. Sometimes he would talk about how earthworms were really invaders from Europe, or how ...