Wes and I went out gardening today. By that I mean Wes grabbed my plastic tea pitcher he uses for watering the plants, the miracle grow, and the insecticide and headed out to “the garden.” And I followed.
Our “garden” consists of four plants: three different kinds of tomato plants that I can’t name and a cucumber plant. We used to have a squash plant. It died. Don’t know what happened.
Wes went to the water hose, filled up the pitcher, mixed in the miracle grow and began the watering of our “garden.” I followed swinging my arms gaily, tromping through the too tall grass, and braving the swarms of gnats that have taken up residence in the air around “the garden.”
Wes waters the leaves and the soil around one plant and heads back to the watering hose to refill my tea pitcher with the pink lemonade looking mixture that we hope will soon turn our plants into giant stalks leading up into the clouds. I follow, walking slowly and deliberately through the jungle, also known as, our backyard.
On the trip back to “the garden,” I ascertain that the swarms of gnats are out to get me and start flailing my arms at them in an attempt to thwart their oncoming attack. Of course no one else can see the gnats, so the woman across the street looks at me like I’m crazy. Then she resumes digging in her huge garden that reflects her expertise in such matters.
Wes asks me if we should dig in the soil a little bit to get it loosened up. Per his mother’s suggestion, I respond in the affirmative feeling like I know something about gardening even if I’m not an expert like Old Lady Green Thumb across the road. I venture slowly into the cobweb-infested basement to retrieve the dirt-covered spade that sits neatly on a cracked wooden door.
My mission accomplished, I venture back out into the wilderness and deposit aforementioned spade on the ground in front of “the garden.” Wes is sitting on the ground stirring the dirt with his hands that are now completely covered in wet soil. He asks me to pick some of the weedy grass out from around the cucumber plant. I bend over, pulling my black sundress tightly to my ass, so no one will see up it, and grab a few handfuls of stringy looking green stuff that may or may not actually be weeds. After commenting to Wes that I just didn’t know how much of this grass to pull up, desperately hoping to get out of pulling up anymore seeing as my hands are now dirty, Wes tells me to pull up a little more.
I stand there staring at my flip-flops, continuously lifting my feet up from the itch of the grassy ground, and fight off the gnat attack that is wreaking havoc on my back at this point. Note to self: either don’t wear a sundress and flip-flops while gardening or get a big NASA space suit that will keep me protected from all unwanted invasions before gardening again.
Upon Wes’ completion of aforementioned gardening tasks, I flee inside the protection of our house fearing the fly buzzing around my head is going to nosedive into my ear and lay eggs that will hatch during the night while I sleep.
“The garden” is watered. My muffins have cooled. There are no more bugs to lay eggs inside my head. Whew! Gardening is dangerous work. Time to enjoy a straight from the box home made blueberry muffin. Thank God I made it in alive to enjoy them.
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