Micia’s adventures in the vegetable garden, the hayloft and the farmhouse attic.

• 18 October 2026 #10 The Mill’s Little Freckle The day after the chicks’ snack, Micia went with Grandpa to the mill to collect a bag of flour. Lillo and Betta came along too. The path ran between a field of golden wheat and rows of maize. Cabbages and broad pumpkin leaves grew near the stream. Around a bend, the mill appeared: stone walls, a red roof and a great wooden wheel. Water flowed from a little channel into the buckets around its rim, making them descend and turning the wheel. While Grandpa went inside, the friends stopped on the dry path behind the fence. “I’ll count how many turns it makes before he comes back,” Micia announced. “One, two, three, four…” Lillo looked puzzled. “But you’re counting the pieces of wood going past.” Micia stopped. She had already lost her place. Betta watched the edge of the wheel. “That bucket has a little red spot. It looks like a freckle.” Micia found it at the top. She watched it descend, disappear behind the channel wall and come up again. “There it is again!” “That’s one whole turn,” said Lillo. They waited for the freckle to return to the same place. Micia raised one finger. On its next visit, she raised two. By the time Grandpa appeared with the flour, the little spot had come round three times. “Three turns for one bag,” she declared. “For the time we waited for this bag,” Betta corrected her with a smile. They set off between the crops. Grandpa told them Grandma would be making little flatbreads. Micia glanced back at the wheel. “Then tomorrow, when I taste one, I’ll think of the freckle.” Lillo touched his nose. “I just hope I don’t end up with a flour freckle.” Read the tale →

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