Dirty hands

The garden shed

I was overcome by a feeling of sadness today as I grunted and groaned my way through an hour in the garden. Complaints from my back and hips and neck were forcing me to shorten the hedge pruning from an afternoon venture to a mere one hour attempt.

I didn't develop an appreciation for the soil and everything that springs from it until late in life. Now, the sadness enveloped me as I realized that my days of tending flowers and vegetables and shrubs and trees was coming to an end.

At the age of nineteen I was married  to husband number one. Thanks to his unrelenting and single minded frugality (at the age of 24 he had been working and saving for 10 years) we owned a 2 bedroom bungalow on 2 1/2 acres of prime farmland in Surrey, BC. During that short marriage, I never once got my hands dirty, never once planted a vegetable or dug in the soil. I do remember watering the 40-50 African Violet plants left behind by the previous owner. After 1 1/2 years I flew the coop, leaving the acreage, two heifers and 125 chickens to him.

Although I have owned other homes over the years, it wasn't until we moved to Salmon Arm 22 years ago that I finally got my hands dirty and loved the feeling. It didn't even cross my mind to nurture a tomato plant or a pot of basil in the intervening years. In this home we have gratefully tasted the flavours of our garden every year. Squirrels and birds and butterflies have provided hours of entertainment in the trees and in the garden. Colourful flower beds have delighted us. Deer and bear have travelled across our property on their way to find food and water, sometimes nibbling on strawberries or spinach, sometimes resting in the cold of winter.  

This year there are a few volunteer potatoes that John is tending and some pots of petunias adding cheer to the

landscape. We still mow the grass as it struggles to grow and trim the hedges with weary shoulders. 

It is time for someone younger to get their hands dirty on this beautiful piece of land!