Dirty Hands - Warm Heart

This old body can’t take much more of this. My feet hurt. My knees are sore. My back is stiff, and don’t even get me started on the back of my legs. My fingernails are chipped and broken. The back of my neck is sunburned. My hands look like a farmer’s and my feet have taken on what I assume to be a permanent shade of what can only be described as “dirt”. Is there a crayon in the Crayola family called “dirt”?

And yet, even with all this going against me, I still find myself daily pulling on the garden gloves and heading out to the place that makes me happier than a worm after a rain…the yard. Oh how I love that yard. It is so much work. I am so tired. It’s killing me. But I love it. It doesn’t feel like work when you love it.

Hmmm. Maybe I missed my calling in life. Maybe I should have been a horticulturist. But then I would have to go out and work on everyone else’s yard and have no time for my own, and that just wouldn’t do. I would like to have you all over to my back yard for a cool glass of lemonade and a walk through “the gardens”. Well, except that I don’t make lemonade, and it’s really just a glorified flower bed, but you would still be welcome. Come any time. Except in the mornings…cause that is when I am covered in the most dirt, and in the afternoons, because it’s even worse. And let’s face it, by evening I am just completely unrecognizable. But underneath all that dirt - you will see a big, big smile!