Why do I love it so much I cannot even begin tell you…
It is like a lint brush for my soul, I can feel any residual angst leaving me as soon as I begin to smooth out the wrinkles in my own little patch of green…As the weeds begin to disappear, as the beds are fluffed and edged, as the mulch is replenished and the flowers deadheaded, a clean green breath of fresh air quietly begins to well up at my toes and spreads upwards towards my middle and into my chest. The rhythm of the work as I move about tethering wayward roses, delphiniums and peonies feels so natural, reincarnate almost as I contemplate last years plantings and dream of nexts. The rising breath warms as I do, I relish the opportunity to pit myself against what feels like simple but meaningful work, to feel the exertion, the pull on my body, the air in my lungs. I love the familiar feeling of the worn handle of my old wooden cast iron pitch fork as the skin in between my thumb and index finger rubs red and warm, almost blistered but not quite.
Pull, shovel, dig, smell the air, smell the trees, pull, shovel, dig.
At the end of the day, having barely stopped to eat or drink I feel tired and dirty, really deliciously dirty with the coffee loam worked into the cracks in my feet well inside my socks and so far up under my fingernails despite my gloves that I am sure it won’t come out for at least a week.
Hah... I LOVE it!!
Dirty and tired but very satisfied.