It was a sure thing. The weather map at 11 p.m. showed a huge blob of rain moving into the area, with projections of heavy rain just at the time I would walk. I made sure it was still on the way when I woke at 3:13. With that double underscore of assurance, I turned off the alarm. I woke around 6 with time enough to walk before the sun got hot. There was no rain whatsoever nearby. Did I get up and go? No! I told myself I’d do some gardening to make up for it, because I loved my bed too much to leave it. Big mistake! That’s exactly the situation I had a week or so ago, and I lived to regret it. For a born gardener, there would have been no problem. I’ll bet a real gardener could talk herself out of walking most days just to get out and commune with plants eager to do her bidding.
I put it off as long as I could, baking blueberry muffins for breakfast. It was too cool to eat on the porch, but I could see the wicked wisteria winking at me, taunting me with innocent looking tendrils just waiting to grab air space. Shears and clippers refused the job. You see, even the tools were in revolt! Maybe it wasn’t an uprising, just old age. I thought the shears were locked shut, but John was able to open them with a mighty heave. The clippers moved, but grudgingly. Instead of cutting, both strangled the vines. Thank heavens sister-in-law Beth suggested loppers and helped us pick them out! I lopped the wisteria, cut off dead roses, and whacked at weedy mint plants under the mystery vine. I’ve held off trimming the vine that is climbing a trellis on the side of the house. It was obviously a loved plant, but neither master gardeners Amy nor Beth know what it is. It could yet redeem itself if it bloomed. A few of its exploratory arms fell with the mint. I should have shut my eyes while walking to the door, but I was waylaid by an evergreen ground cover with brown, rotten bits scattered throughout. Lots of that is now on the burn pile.
One should have a sense of victory, or at least satisfaction, after slaving in the garden. I was just hot.
You know you’re hot if your jeans stick to you and have to be peeled off,
if you can’t see through your glasses because sweat is streaming down the inside,
if the water in the shower is too warm when set on cold, and
if your face is still red after a cool shower.
I suppose I do have some satisfaction, after all. I thoroughly enjoy complaining about gardening! Secretly I was very pleased to find hollyhocks beginning to bloom. My grandparents had hollyhocks and snapdragons near their mailbox, and I’ve always had a soft spot for them.