Becka put her empty glass on a level spot and climbed back into the pit. They had to go down at least one more foot before declaring victory. It would be easy if it weren’t for the damned roots, some the size of her forearm, several even larger. She still couldn’t believe they came from the old cottonwood stump. Jack had laughed off her concerns at first, easily slicing through a bundle with the point of his shovel. But they kept appearing, as if the ground was determined to see them fail.
After three miserable hours and six inches of progress, she had asked “Do you want to try digging somewhere else?”
Jack was adamant. “No. This is the best spot in the yard. Plus, we’re outside the main fence—which is what we wanted.”
As they dug deeper, the roots multiplied. Becka estimated they had spent at least half of their time so far cutting the damned things. A testament to their efforts, a giant pile of shredded bark and root bits teetered beside the hole. They were committed.
She checked her watch. Four thirty. The twins were due to return at six. She shook her head in dismay. This won’t be done in an hour. Maybe not in ten...
She considered calling Jack’s mom and asking if she could keep the kids for a couple more hours, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. It almost never was with her mother-in-law.
Becka resumed digging. She wedged her shovel under a particularly stubborn rootball, and leaned on the handle. Throwing her entire body into the effort, she hopped up and down, grunting like a wounded animal. The root popped out, but the shovel kept going, plunging deep before stopping abruptly with a leg-numbing clang.
“What the…?” She knelt and began sifting through the crumbly soil with her gloved hands, sweeping the dirt into a pile behind her.
“What’s that?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jack! You surprised me!” She pointed at the thing she had uncovered. “I found something!”
“No shit?” Placing the pitcher on the ground, he climbed in beside her and started to help. Jack scratched his head and stood. Listening intently, he stomped hard on the flat metal surface. “Sounds hollow,” he said, perplexed. “I bet we’ve got an old oil tank here.”
Becka didn’t have words to express her frustration. She glared at the new obstacle, fuming inside. This was supposed to be easy.