I have garden envy. I covet people’s backyard plantings, climbing vines, perennials and annuals.
I want to be the type of person who can spot a weed within a bunch of wildflowers, to know which shrub needs full sun or just half, to own a pair of matching gardening gloves and clogs, to work in the hot sun and the cool dirt and feel like they are nourishing my soul.
I am not that person.
I found this out yesterday when I dug two holes the size of hat boxes by the deck to plant hydrangeas I bought on Mother’s Day. (I tend to put things off.)
Shovel in hand, I began.
Immediately, I felt like I was a one-woman chain gang. My body started to revolt. I was sweating from the TOP OF MY SCALP which was a new, unnerving feeling. The sweat dripped down my face. I got DIRTY. Dirt caught under my fingernails, on my knees and shins and on my face. My neighbor, Fran, actually came over and told me to have a glass of water.
I jumped on the shovel to get more leverage, because my arms, well, clearly that one round of curls I did at the gym in 1993 didn’t do much.
Of course, when I did that, I almost fell, narrowly missing the opportunity to eviscerate myself with a pair of hedge clippers. Those were a last-minute grab from the garage to snip some roots. Which, by the way, ended up being useless.
Digging holes when there are roots in the ground is awful, awful work. It took 50 minutes and three tools to release that woody, snarly labyrinth unbound from their earthly lair.
But I did it.
Of course, I felt an immediate need to shower and have a glass of wine on the deck so all would be right my non-gardening world once again.
Which is to say: cheers to you gardeners and landscapers who find joy in this. I’ll be on the deck, keeping the chardonnay chilled.
And one more thing:
Des from “The Bachelorette”. Really? A day later and she’s over Brooks? I thought she cried easily, but not as easily as this lady:
I’ll give Des this: she is a very pretty crier. No blotches, no runny nose. I’d cry all the time if I looked this good doing it. Unfortunately, I’m a hot mess crier, which is why I avoid it at all times. Being half British also helps.
So, I came late to the party this season, but the last two episodes were all I needed to know that this show is a.) complete trainwreck and b.) I love it. Anyway, mazel tov to the new couple. May all your reality show dreams come true.