Dear Gardening Gloves,
I didn’t really realize how much I liked you until the other morning, when I thought I could rake just a little bit, without you. The blister on my left palm begs to differ.
You’re the first garden gloves I’ve had since I’ve been married. I know that sounds silly and sentimental, but I just don’t care. You’re a sign and a symbol that reminds me that things are different–that we are constantly growing and changing and filling in the bare spaces with tender green shoots, even as we are approaching fall and winter, and the close of our very first year, he and I.
Some days, you are the garment I wear the longest, and you’re all sweaty and gross, when I’m done. Every time I put you on, I have to be mindful of the world in a different way–a way that makes me move slower, a way that sometimes asks me to sit or stand or be in a position that can be challenging–like when we were putting staples in weed barrier…my back is still a little tight, truth be told. When we spread 10,000 lady bugs on the planter box in the front yard, I was so glad you were between me and them. I love a ladybug, don’t get me wrong. But 10,000 of anything at one time is kind of scary and weird…especially when they are crawling all over my hands.
I’m not afraid to get dirty or be a little more aggressive when you’re between me and whatever task I’m undertaking. On the flip side of that–doing fine motor work with you is taxing. But it makes me think harder about what I’m doing, work a little slower. And that’s not a bad thing. I’ve so enjoyed putting you on, and being outside, without a phone or an i-pod, away from clicking and clacking and trying to make sense of war and hate and greed. Putting you on has felt, so many times, like opening my prayer book, and beginning to say the liturgy. And so, sometimes on Sundays, I find myself spending the whole day with you…but that’s also true on Tuesday afternoons, when peat pots need to be tended, and 20 bags of cow manure need to be spread, and this crazy front yard garden he and I decided to build is just a tiny whisper of the harvest that may yet be.