Harvesting the Twigs

“What are you doing?”

“Well,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.  “Every year, the time comes that I must do what needs doing.”  She goes back to her work.

“And what needs doing… exactly?”

“Why!  Harvesting the twigs.  That’s what needs doing.  Have you never harvested the twigs before, lassie?  Well, it’s time you learned how to do it.”

“I don’t think I need to be taught.  It looks like you’re just breaking sticks and putting them in a box.”

“Aye, that’s what I be doing, but that doesn’t mean you know how to do it just by looking at my stick box.”

“Uh… I think I do.  You break up the sticks and put them in a box.  Pretty self-explanatory.”

She huffs in indignation and repeats, “There’s more to it than that.”

“Really?  How much more?”

“A lot more,” she said, showing extreme irritation, but doesn’t elaborate.

“That’s all there is to it, isn’t it?” I ask after waiting an appropriate interval.

“Aye.  That’s about all there is to it.”  She smiles and gets on with her work.