Gardeners Live Long Lives

Many studies (I wonder now how scientific they are) suggest that gardeners live long, healthy lives. I can't believe this is true. I got my feet wet about ten days ago filling the five planters with Bob, and that experience was fine -- easy on the nerves and not very demanding. Yesterday and today were a different story.

I spent several hours over the last two days planting a total of 74 plants (impatiens, alyssum, petunias, marigolds), in the flower bed near the garage and the other small area between the front and back yards. I'd prepared the ground the same day as I did the planters, but after all the rain we've had the ground was very hard and  I had to do some of the work again.

I divided each space into quadrants so that I could distribute the plants fairly evenly, going for a nice "random" design. On Bob's instructions, I dug a hole for each little plant, some of which were looking mighty sparse and fragile. Then I filled the watering can and poured water into each hole. Yesterday was impatiens day and by the time I'd shoved every little plant into the 34 holes, I felt as though I could go to bed for the rest of the day.

This morning, I finished up with the rest of the flowers. Despite my sister Marilyn's warning not to plant in the rain (soil is too compacted), I figured today was a better weather day than what we'll be getting the rest of the week, so I pushed forward. I passed on the gardening gloves today and my hands were totally mucked up after only a few minutes.

Midway through the project, Heather from P & J Medical came to pick up Bob's CPM machine. I left the job to talk to her for awhile, and realized after a minute or so that I must look like a crazy person. By this time, I was quite wet and my hair was plastered to my head. I had a big brown blob of mud on my glasses and my legs were streaked with dirt. After a little chit chat about yards and mowing, Heather left and I went back to my station. 20 plants to go. I wasn't concerned that passers-by and neighbors would see me in this frazzled, filthy state. I had turned into the kind of woman I've laughed at all these years.

By the time I finished, the watering can was so dirty that I had to hose it off. Because I can't kneel down on my fake knees, all the planting was done from a crouched position, and I had begun to stiffen up. My left elbow ached and my hands were cramped and cold. I felt about 95 years old, not shooting for 100.

The rain began to fall harder. I went into the house through the side door, and limped down the stairs to the basement for my shower. I sprayed off the mud and hoped that no one would come to the door as I walked through the house clad only a towel.