Rattle, rattle, rattle. "Sounds like the Mama is playing with the ladders," said the Husband. We were in our office in the front of the house. Fortunately, we can hear the rattle of ladders through the window. I sighed. Looking away from the computer, I said, "It's time to give her medicine anyway." * * * * * The Mama stood holding onto the fruitless persimmon tree, the six-foot ladder propped on the ground next to her feet. She looked both guiltily and defiantly at me. "What are you doing?" "I need to prune the persimmon tree," she said. "Here, take your medicine," I said, handing her a cup of water and the pill box. "Move away. Let me do it." "I can do it," she said. "Yes, you can. But, I'm doing it," I said, struggling to put the ladder in the narrow space. "Just those two branches shooting straight up," she said. "Not the one with the fruit." Climbing