“Jesus Christ...they’ve done it…they’ve done it!”
A child prods her dying mother, urging her to get up. This is no expression of love, however, but rather a guttural urge for the fading woman to get up and “work, work, work” to produce the crops so necessary for basic survival. As the mother passes away, the child takes a few objects from her bedside but leaves behind what was her father’s beloved book on birds, one which the mother, Ruth, so…