I had fun today. Hubby gave me a day alone to ruminate. While the hubby’s away, the gardener will play. . . .
Guess what happens when your sweet eight-year-old daughter plays with your phone while you are cleaning your gardening mess? You arrive back on WordPress a week later to find a MASSIVE photo in the middle of your post and all the rest of your post disappeared! Whatever I had to say, I thought it was very clever at the time, and I’m sure it won’t come out near as brilliantly this time. 🙁
I’ll post the photos anyway and see what happens.
The basic story behind all that is the week before these photos, I found the need to do some soil work inside the house at Forkland. Hubby put up a great fuss, saying what a mess it would be. I remained steadfastly unwilling to suffer in the cold with numb fingers while trying to do my work. He eventually caved upon promises to clean the inevitable mess immediately upon completion.
Fast-forward to the week pictured above, and you find me home alone at the house in town (Asbury Seminary campus) once again needing to do some soil work but with no place or tools to do it. As I began to contemplate my situation I felt my soil and looked outside. Shoving large chunks of frozen soil to the side, I took my trowel and tried to reach to the bottom of my soil barrel to mix the layers I had put in the week before.
To no avail – I couldn’t even reach to the second layer to mix it in with the top, let alone reach to the bottom of the barrel. Hmmm . . . no wheel barrow, no shovel. Grrr . . . stuck again, or maybe not! I felt an impish grin come all over me as I pictured my absentee husband’s reaction to the thoughts flurrying through my brain. The kitchen floor is so empty, spacious, and warm.
It is, after all, one seamless piece of vinyl. Oh boy! If I had a tarp to lay down, that would be even better . . . oh yes, the huge mass of plastic the painters left that has been all up in our way. Perfect! Down she goes, over tips the soil barrel. Beautiful!
I ran my hands through with delight and felt like a kid again. I remembered how my mom used to marvel that I could make mud pies for hours and come in clean. Good times!
Who needs a trowel? My hands worked more efficiently anyway, so I set the trowel aside. Once I finished, the only puzzle was how to get the leftovers back into the barrel without a shovel and without nicking the vinyl or shredding the thin plastic I had laid down. Puzzle no more, I discovered our then dog’s melamine salvage food dish, and it was just right.
Immediately after I had put all the mess away to the point of walking toward the broom closet to sweep the floor, I heard our vehicle pull into the driveway. My heart skipped a happy beat, knowing I was nearly undetectable. I dashed for the broom and began sweeping innocently just as my husband and children walked through the door, completely and blissfully oblivious of my playful fun.
Playing in the dirt is good for your soul. You should try it sometime!