...this morning, I thought I had another of those rare days with: nothing on my calendar. But then remember (with a little prompting as a result of actually looking at the calendar, because if I don't write it down, it's gone!) I'd agreed to go with a couple of fellow gardening friends down town to do some weeding. The local master gardening group has committed to several projects that require regular attention. And this was my once a month Monday to go and donate time.
One is a small area in between buildings belonging to the Springer Theater, available for rental space for receptions. Mostly neatly groomed lawn, but attractive landscaping around the edges, inside a gated courtyard, with a peaceful fountain blurbling near a brick wall along the back. We three pulled some stray weeds and grass in the straw beds. Pinched the blooming tops off some coleus planted in big circular raised brick beds out in the street median.
Moved on to Historic District and more weeding and sniping of bloomed out decorative plants. I trimmed off daisies, others tidied up beds of roses and a few vegetables still producing, mostly tomato plants. I dreaded this part of the project, as I remember how voracious the mosquitos were when I was last there- they have not changed. I borrowed bug spray, to make myself unappealing, but they probably tasted me a dozen times. My legs are still itchy.
After about an hour, I told them I thought I had all the therapy I needed, and was going to sit in the car and wait. They could continue to feed the insects all they wanted, but I would rather be hot and steamy sitting in the back seat than donate any more blood for lunch. I've long preached weed pulling as a great form of therapy, something that is generally mindless and requires little conscious thought. But after all that bending over, to the point that my thighs and back had begun to ache, pulling up dozens of volunteer cherry laurels and other assorted unwanteds, I felt I had filled my quota for the day - or week.
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