The flowers here are gorgeous, aren’t they? You know my father, his name is known here in this town. Famous for his mulch, his compost, his magical soil. Family secrets, they say. I know them all of course. Well, wouldn’t you like to know? No, no, I can’t give you a hint! Just admire what you’re seeing. Be grateful you’re here, through this archway. The trees here are hundreds of years old. They’re like my friends, talking to me during my boyhood years. That? No, that’s a branch not a bone, silly! Why would there be a bone in this foliage? Huh. This plot is my favorite. My father planted it himself, you know. I don’t hear anything, no. No, no screaming. Must be a distant dog or bird; we are by the ocean, you know. Go home? Why so soon? No, no, I have other plans for us. Find me down the garden path …