Digging for Worms

The girls were outside this afternoon with their Grandma Janet when I came home from a trip to the library. They both promptly ignored my arrival, afraid that I would call them home and spoil their fun.

I did stop by the gate for a bit to see what it was that had such rapt attention from them.

I watched for a bit as Marisa gently held something in her hand. I asked her what she had, and her reply was swift and assertive.

"MY worm!"

One of the favorite pass times of my two girls is to dig in the garden for pet worms. They are blessed to have plenty of worms to dig for. The garden overfloweth with worms so finding one or one hundred worms is not such a daunting task. This digging is a great learning experience for the girls.

I sometimes feel sorry for the poor, defenseless worms that are destined to become the momentary obsessions of my girls. The worms rarely suffer more than a time of frustration before they are returned to their homes in the soil, but it must be somewhat unsettling to be held high above the ground while you wriggle around seeking the freedom and safety of your burrows, only to find yourself suspended in the open air where any bird or predator can clearly see you. (poor little worms...)

On a side note, while I was out today I had to stop by the bank. The sidewalk in front of the bank was littered with a few dozen worms that had been forced out of the ground by recent rains. The worms, of course, were no longer among the living. I was silently grateful that my two girls were not with me to witness this mass carnage, for I'm certain that my four year old - a sensitive soul - would have been quite distraught at the sight of all those dead worms laying on the ground. If I had possession of a broom at the time, I would have swept the walk clean of the worms to protect the innocence of any unsuspecting children who might have passed that way. Alas, a broom is not something I happen to carry in my car on a regular basis.