It was time to cut the okra.
My rain boots were heavy walking down the path.
My yellow pail swing at my side and my dress slowly whipped in the wind.
I met the farmer at the okra patch and began making my way down the rows.
The farmer cut the okra since I'm allergic and plopped it into the pail.
It hit with a small thud every time another one was plopped in the bucket.
I cringed at how swiftly he went through and cut the okra.
The okra makes me red and itchy and makes me swell up double.
I am a good bucket holder though.
Baxxy was our little helper, I mean supervisor.
He ran through the okra plants, ran up and down the rows.
Every so often he'd get a little too far and I'd yell for him to come back and tell him he has to supervise.
Then I heard a sound.
A sound that we've rarely heard this Summer.
Rain.
I looked up and pointed, "Uh, we are about to get soaked."
The farmer looked back and said, "Time to go." He walked back to the ranger.
I took my bucket and ran through the okra patch to the ranger.
Baxter ran close behind and hopped in between us.
The cool raindrops began to sprinkle down.
We hit the gas and sped off back to the house.
We had just pulled in under our carport when the bottom of the storm fell out.
It was a cool ending to a hot Summer day of okra cutting.
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