Thrown up by memory V

When we were tiny tots, my father would take us outside and clip our fingernails over the buffalo grass lawn. Any nail with dirt underneath, he'd declare a "pumpkin patch", while one worn down further than the others was a "picker". Of course, we always denied we were scrubbing too little or excavating too much, but I think that secretly a tally of, say, "three pumpkin patches and two pickers" was a badge of pride.