Song Tan turned and shouldered her hoe up the back hill.
The hilltop was a scene of bustling activity.
The excavator had just a small area left unfinished, and the young lads, with a robustness different from Zhang Yanping's, were working hard.
Zhang Wang's family divided the weeds and debris into small piles, stacking them with pig manure and soil, then sprinkling different kinds of fermentation bacteria into them.
At the edge of Peach Garden, they had enclosed a rather impressive mound of compost.
In three more months, this compost could be put to use.
Song Sancheng, as usual, went to Chestnut Garden to air and dry the black fungus, while the Golden Sakura seedlings that had been planted earlier had now stoutly sprouted leaf buds, unfurling soft green leaves, full of vigor and particularly delightful to see.
The one who stood out as the odd one out was Zhang Yanping.
To avoid looking too idle, he took the opportunity to observe the fingerlings in the pond down the hill.
