When Pol Krage came to our village, he was already an old man. I don't know where he'd lived before and it never occurred to me to ask him. Lots of old people move here to Brigitta. There's plenty of food from the forest and farmland. And it doesn't snow in the winter.
Pol Krage was a good neighbor. He could take one look at your garden, scratch at that gray beard of his, and then tell you exactly what you should be doing. In a nice way. "The brighter the color, the more the flower will like the shade." "Don't water a dying plant." Things like that. I may be the strongest guy in town with a hammer or an axe, but I got no mind for gardens. He helped me get tomatoes going in a patch of soil by my window, and I helped him dig his root cellar in the side of the hill out behind his house.
That's the way things are around here. We look out for each other.
It's an interesting story. You should check it out.
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