Rode Hard....

This morning I understand the expression “rode hard and put up wet.” When I woke up and attempted to jump out of bed, my body screamed at me to let it stay in a prone position where the pain and stiffness wouldn’t be so bad. I managed to sit up at the edge of the bed and for a minute contemplated all of my body aches before attempting to walk the short distance to our bathroom. I ached all over – even muscles in my thumbs were sore. As I began to move around, the screaming subsided, and became a begging voice for me to get back into bed. What made me feel like I’d been put up wet? The past two days of working out in our new garden plot with Phil.

Phil has been talking about enlarging our garden ever since we planted our three tomato plants, three pepper plants, two squash hills, two cucumber plants, and the little row of green beans this past spring. My strawberry patch was already well-established, and we decided that we wanted some fresh home-grown vegetables this summer. The little garden was plenty for me to take care of, and I harvested enough vegetables for us to eat and more. Phil caught the gardening bug, and nurtured our little garden spot with tender loving care. He began talking about having a larger garden for next year, and when my brother, Bob, offered to sell him his tiller, the die was cast.

I’ve never seen anyone brag on a machine the way Phil has his tiller. He staked off a section of our property for his garden, and began clearing. He soon found that it was too much for him to handle alone. When I came home from work on Thursday afternoon, part of our land had a new crewcut. Phil had hired a neighbor to come over with some big chopping contraption to do the job he and his riding mower and tiller couldn’t do. Trees had been felled, blackberry thickets were gone, and we had not one, but two garden spots- the original one was enlarged, and we now have a much larger rectangle of naked earth on the opposite side of our house.

On Friday, Phil asked me if I had plans for the week-end. Unfortunately, I didn’t. Bright and early Saturday morning, I received my assignment. My job was to take the tractor-mower with the wagon behind it and transfer dirt from one area of our property to the new garden plot. Five wagon loads later, my task was accomplished and I sat down to catch my breath. Phil, in the meantime, had begun tilling his new space. He shouted at me to go ahead of him and the tiller to pick up and toss out sticks, roots, rocks, and anything else I found that would be in his way. This job was more that I bargained for. After a trip to the shop to get the hatchet, I was bending, pulling, chopping, and tossing. We worked like this for three hours when we both looked at each other, noting that we are now 60 years old, and called it a day.

Yesterday morning I was sore, but not bad enough to turn him down, when Phil asked me to help him again. This time he wanted me to clear out the smaller plot where my extended strawberry patch will be planted. The tasks of Saturday were repeated, but this time I had a partially ground up tree trunk to deal with. After clearing the plot, I began the second task on my list – to take up the tomato baskets, tear down the poles and strings where the beans had climbed this summer, and prepare the old garden for mowing and tilling. I also took it upon myself to do some much needed weeding in my strawberry bed, and transplanted a few plants that had become strangled by Bermuda grass. By noon, I was done. Thank goodness, Phil was, too! We both spent the afternoon indoors- he napped and I worked on an afghan I am crocheting.

If he asks me this morning if I have plans, I am going to make up something! I want to spend my Labor Day holiday as far away from labor as I can get!