Winter Gardener
Our houseguest cousins, Cheryl and Virg, worked for awhile in the garden with me yesterday – an incomparable gift as far as I’m concerned. It’s what I do least best and with the most grumbling. To have someone – actually two someones – offer to help was an opportunity not to be bypassed.
We didn’t work very long or very hard but we got a few things accomplished that I couldn’t have done on my own, like getting rid of a nasty patch of crabgrass in the midst of the Shasta daisies. Plus it was just pleasant to be outside getting their two-bits worth on the garden. It’s always comforting to hear someone else tell me how much work this garden is and how very too much work it is for one person. (They didn’t say “for one old lady” but that’s how I heard it, of course, and couldn’t agree more!)
But what Cheryl really zeroed in on was my gardening shirt, of all things. “May I take a picture of it?” she asked. I know it has developed character over the years but I had never thought of it as photo-worthy.
I can’t even remember where I got that shirt. I have the vague recollection that it began as something of Nyel’s but didn’t fit or maybe he just didn’t like it. When it was new, it was a heavy-duty, black sweat shirt, huge for me but capable of being pulled on over several other layers of clothing and covering everything perfectly. With sleeves rolled up several times so that they reach my wrists, it has been my gardening shirt for years.
Sun, rain, and a zillion washings have turned it to a soft gray color now. In places it is paper thin and it’s probably only in my mind that it keeps the chill wind out. Plus, it has developed a number of holes, especially around the neck. I wouldn’t think of tackling a weed or trimming a rhodies without it.
So Cheryl took some pictures and I thought about how many garden forays are left in that shirt. When I finally need to pitch it, will it be time to abandon my gardening duties? I figure the shirt might have three or four more years which would make me an octogenarian…
Oh my goodness, that’s exactly the same as me–old sweatshirts that get older and older and holier (with holes, that is, not holy-ness!) for gardening! Somehow, it seems okay to get them filthy dirty out in the garden.