One of the enticements that I looked forward to upon retirement was to finally have time to spend in the garden. I envisioned beautiful multi-colored flower beds, lush green foliage, and blossoming clay pots strategically placed on my patio. I’ve been retired for 18 months now and, as I gaze out my sliding door, the reality that I see does not match the splendor in my mind’s eye. Poorly pruned rose bushes are void of roses, spindly green plants whose varietals names escape me have been squashed by the naps of the neighbor’s cat, and potted lemon trees have diseased spotted leaves which bear no fruit what-so-ever. The time has definitely come to rank the garden at the top of my “to do” list.
With the rain no longer my excuse to procrastinate, and armed with the best of intentions, I drag my husband over to Home Depot where we amass into our cart an assembly of garden tools, gloves, and weed killers. As we hoist the humongous bags of planting soil into the trunk of the car, we marvel at how little time it takes to charge $300 to the credit card, a reality that we will rethink when the bill arrives in the mail.
During the next week, I find several hours to devote to this long awaited project. Dressed in my most ragged work clothes, I approach my task with the rugged enthusiasm of the Jolly Green Giant, ready to conquer the dangers of the jungle. As I attempt to drag the plastic bags over to the flower beds, one of them breaks and I have to accept the fact that I may be faced with a challenge. After I sweep up the escaped loam, I notice that the territory I am about to treat is infiltrated with a wide assortment of ugly weeds which must be removed. One hour later and undaunted by my aching knees uncomfortably resting on the cement, I slice open a bag of planter mix and proceed to shovel the new dark soil onto the waiting flower bed. I do not allow the dirt that flies into my eyes or the throbbing pain that is creeping its way into the small of my back to impede my progress.
In what seems like an eon, I step back and admire the fresh layer of earth, ready to embark on my next move. Shaking the tiny yellow pellets of weed killer onto the soil should not be beyond my landscape abilities, but I decide to carefully read the instructions anyway. Much to my dismay, I discover that I purchased the wrong product; instead of weed killer, I had picked up a container of fertilizer with “weed preventer” included. Oh well, that will have to do for now, because I’m not stopping my work to make another trip to the store.
With the last few minutes of daylight remaining, I sweep up the remnants of dirt, weeds, and pellets from the patio, and return to my position inside the house and gaze again through the sliding door. While the rose bushes still need roses and the planter area still awaits flowers, I delight in seeing the glistening black earth and anticipate my next appointment in the garden.
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