El Presidente was enlarging his war against his citizens. This meant the roads were more crowded than before with refugees fleeing the capital city for safety among the farmers on the plains and up in the hills. Some of these refugees arrived, of course, at the farm of the wicked witch.
Whenever a family arrived, the witch would put on her wickedest face and voice (she’d been practicing) and tell the children she was going to roast them and eat them with mashed potatoes and baby gravy. The children believed her for about a minute and a half, whereas their parents just smiled as each family was taken in hand by the senior refugees and led to rooms where there were new beds. The tenured refugees had (with the witch’s permission) taken charge and somehow found enough lumber to build two new rooms (lean-tos) at the side of the house. They were also working the farm and doing whatever they could with other providers of shelter to make newcomers as comfortable as possible. All the farms across the plains and in the hills had nearly run out of food to feed their guests, but with the coming of spring and tiny green shoots already showing, many of the people were hopeful. Continue reading “Springing Forward with the Wicked Witch by Barbara Ardinger”
Feminism and Religion 