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At the end of spring, Grandad Emil pressed
one turnip seed into the darkest patch of
soil.

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He patted it gently, gave it a silver
splash from his watering can, and marked
the place with a smooth stick.

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‘Grow as much as you please,’ he said.

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Beyond the willow fence, sunflowers nodded
as if they had heard him.

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Rain drummed on the cottage roof.

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Sun warmed the vegetable beds.

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Emil weeded and watered while a green curl
became two leaves, then six, then a great
rustling crown.

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By late summer, the leaves shaded the red
wheelbarrow.

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Grandma Nia peered from the green door.

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Tavi stood on tiptoe, but neither could
see where the enormous root ended
underground.

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‘Harvest day,’ Emil announced.

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He rolled up his blue sleeves, wrapped
both hands around the thick green stems
and planted his boots firmly.

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He pulled once.

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He pulled twice.

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He leaned so far back that his straw hat
slipped over one eye.

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The leaves trembled, the soil crumbled—and
the turnip did not move even a thumb’s
width.

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Nia tied her cream apron in a neat knot.

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She held Emil around the waist while Emil
held the stems.

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‘Ready?’ she called.

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Bend, grip, pull!

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Their boots scratched two little tracks in
the earth.

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The giant leaves swished, and a robin
fluttered from the fence.

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But the enormous turnip sat snug beneath
the garden, as settled as a stone cottage.

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Tavi looped her arms around Nia’s waist,
her red ribbon bobbing behind her.

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Emil held the stems.

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Nia held Emil.

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Tavi held Nia.

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‘One, two, three—pull!’ Three pairs of
boots shuffled backwards.

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The turnip gave a tiny creak, or perhaps
that was Emil’s braces.

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Bramble barked encouragement while Pip
watched from the wheelbarrow, whiskers
twitching.

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Bramble caught the end of Tavi’s apron
gently in his teeth.

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Pip hooked careful white paws around
Bramble’s shaggy tail.

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Emil, Nia and Tavi leaned back.

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Dog paws dug in.

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Cat paws stretched long.

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They pulled until every sunflower seemed
to lean with them.

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Still the turnip stayed put.

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Then a small brown nose appeared beneath
the willow fence.

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Titch the field mouse scampered to the end
of the line and held Pip’s green collar
with two tiny paws.

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Everyone drew one deep breath.

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‘Pull!’ called Tavi.

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Roots crackled.

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Earth puffed.

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With a tremendous pop, the turnip flew
free.

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Emil, Nia, Tavi, Bramble, Pip and Titch
tumbled backwards into the soft
haystack—surprised, safe and laughing.

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The enormous turnip filled the wheelbarrow
and fed a splendid harvest supper.

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Nia made creamy soup.

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Emil roasted golden wedges with herbs.

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Tavi warmed rolls by the stove.

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Bramble and Pip received their own little
plates, and Titch’s tiny bowl was filled
right to the rim.

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Before sunset, Emil saved the smallest
piece for next year’s garden.