Every year, my son spends half the summer in Ukraine with my parents. He has a ritual: as soon as he wakes up, sun glaring and white-hot at 8am, he runs into the garden, straight to the cucumber plant.
Every year, my son spends half the summer in Ukraine with my parents. He has a ritual: as soon as he wakes up, sun glaring and white-hot at 8am, he runs into the garden, straight to the cucumber plant.