I've been a little on edge lately, worrying about various things, and the slightest aggravation sets my head on fire, makes me evil. Even inanimate objects draw my wrath.
Yesterday, I decided that physical activity would help work off some steam, so I put on my gardening clothes and drove up to the community garden. I'd intended to wheelbarrow more wood chips to my newly-planted squash plot, but when I got there, a truck was blocking the gate; the wheelbarrow would not fit through the space. Two people were working a plot next to mine. I'm sure one of them would have moved the truck if I'd asked, but I hated to interrupt their momentum when I wasn't all that gung-ho about wheelbarrowing in the first place. We chatted a bit while I pulled nutgrass from around my squash, then I picked the cucumbers from a volunteer plant in an abandoned plot, weeded my pea patch, and came home.
Weeds are taking over the community garden. Nutgrass and pigweed are thick (except in my plots and a couple of others), and they're going to seed. I've been pulling them from my neighbors' plots in hopes of keeping mine clean, even though I know it's futile effort. If I were the garden manager, I'd be sending out a text blast, telling people to clean up their plots. Failing that, I'd ask for volunteers for a clean-up day, SOON, to pull weeds and pick vegetables from plots that were planted but not tended.
As you might guess, working in the garden did not do much to soothe me.
When I got home, I dropped my purse and keys on the table and went straight outside to weed-eat the yard with the weed-eater on wheels. It cranked on the first pull. I chopped down the phlox-iris beds around the porch, cleaned up the edges of the new "sunny bed," and tackled the edge of the thicket between the house and the pond. There's a ditch in that area, and my weed-eater slid into it, and I had to wrestle the blasted thing to get it out. Today, my old muscles and joints are complaining.
It's always something, ain't it?
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