Early this morning I kept my promise and tended to my gardening, making sure those tender young plants we had purchased over the weekend and that had been entrusted to my care were safely snuggled into the soil. The last thing you want to do is keep them exposed to the baking sun and other elements for very long. It’s so sad to see a wilted, shriveled up plant that’s lost its future promise. Not to mention the money spent on purchasing it.
I spent a solid hour weeding the planters, placing the plants into their assigned spots, packing in the dirt, and watering when I was done. I made contact with my fair share of dirt, and I even released some liquid from my pores, I believe it’s called sweat? Ewww.
I understand why some people love to garden. It’s a very sensory experience. There’s the sound of the birds in the trees. The gentle breezes on your damp skin. The scents of the dirt and, if you’re lucky, the plants you’re placing into the ground. All of that is very good. I planted rosemary, cilantro, lavender, basil, oregano, patchouli, and parsley. It was a living potpourri. I also filled the flower boxes and pots in front of our house with begonias which always seem to be successful there.
But then there’s the dirt and the aforementioned sweat. And the bees and other bugs flying in your face that you need to swat with your dirt-caked gardening gloves, leaving a trail of dirt across your face, misleading any passerby into believing you had just emerged from a campout. Heaven forbid.
I’d say that the gardening I did this morning was just enough. Enough to enjoy the good and not so much of the ewww.