A broad grin stretched across Walter’s rugged features as he saw Anon. He shielded his eyes from the sun, squinting to see the baskets. He hoped for rhubarb. He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. The warmth had him slightly disheveled, but he didn’t mind. He called out a greeting, “Mornin’.” He admired Anon’s gardening skills and hoped they brought enough rhubarb for a pie. He mentioned a cherished secret recipe and suggested they bake together, sharing a conspiratorial chuckle.