Once upon a time, there was a witch of middle years who had much to do. She had herbs to care for and to harvest, potions to brew, villagers to tend to, and quite frankly, the cottage's dust was growing beyond one layer. It was all very well to do two or three tasks in a day, but the demands of her life were never equal to two or three tasks. No, more often than not, it was the case that all the tasks had to be done every single day. For the herbs were linked to the rise and fall of the moon and had to be cared for accordingly, the potions were in constant use by the villagers for all their ailments and needs―the bulk of whom seemed to be injured or sick or listless on a scheduled rotation―and the dust, well, that was just a byproduct of living in a house with drying herbs, a sooty fire, and a cat.
And so, she gardened and harvested and brewed and cared and cleaned day after day.
Again and again.
Until the day she went mad, sold all her things, and moved to the coast.
And that is why it is always best for a village to have two witches.