The Enormous Turnip

At the end of spring, Grandad Emil pressed one turnip seed into the darkest patch of soil. He patted it gently, gave it a silver splash from his watering can, and marked the place with a smooth stick. ‘Grow as much as you please,’ he said. Beyond the willow fence, sunflowers nodded as if they had heard him.

Rain drummed on the cottage roof. Sun warmed the vegetable beds. Emil weeded and watered while a green curl became two leaves, then six, then a great rustling crown. By late summer, the leaves shaded the red wheelbarrow. Grandma Nia peered from the green door. Tavi stood on tiptoe, but neither could see where the enormous root ended underground.

‘Harvest day,’ Emil announced. He rolled up his blue sleeves, wrapped both hands around the thick green stems and planted his boots firmly. He pulled once. He pulled twice. He leaned so far back that his straw hat slipped over one eye. The leaves trembled, the soil crumbled—and the turnip did not move even a thumb’s width.

Nia tied her cream apron in a neat knot. She held Emil around the waist while Emil held the stems. ‘Ready?’ she called. Bend, grip, pull! Their boots scratched two little tracks in the earth. The giant leaves swished, and a robin fluttered from the fence. But the enormous turnip sat snug beneath the garden, as settled as a stone cottage.

Tavi looped her arms around Nia’s waist, her red ribbon bobbing behind her. Emil held the stems. Nia held Emil. Tavi held Nia. ‘One, two, three—pull!’ Three pairs of boots shuffled backwards. The turnip gave a tiny creak, or perhaps that was Emil’s braces. Bramble barked encouragement while Pip watched from the wheelbarrow, whiskers twitching.

Bramble caught the end of Tavi’s apron gently in his teeth. Pip hooked careful white paws around Bramble’s shaggy tail. Emil, Nia and Tavi leaned back. Dog paws dug in. Cat paws stretched long. They pulled until every sunflower seemed to lean with them. Still the turnip stayed put. Then a small brown nose appeared beneath the willow fence.

Titch the field mouse scampered to the end of the line and held Pip’s green collar with two tiny paws. Everyone drew one deep breath. ‘Pull!’ called Tavi. Roots crackled. Earth puffed. With a tremendous pop, the turnip flew free. Emil, Nia, Tavi, Bramble, Pip and Titch tumbled backwards into the soft haystack—surprised, safe and laughing.

The enormous turnip filled the wheelbarrow and fed a splendid harvest supper. Nia made creamy soup. Emil roasted golden wedges with herbs. Tavi warmed rolls by the stove. Bramble and Pip received their own little plates, and Titch’s tiny bowl was filled right to the rim. Before sunset, Emil saved the smallest piece for next year’s garden.