The Grass Tickling Between My Toes

Shivering, the morning chill nipped at my toes. Easing the shutters, I peeked through the slats, lifting my cheek to the bright sun, its warmth filling me. Tingling with expectation… for yes, the wintry blast now was yielding to the kindness of a mild breeze. The yard was embracing the awesome color of generous blooms in sapling and floret.

The gardens were beckoning, their dense, rich soil yearning for seed and plant. My hands were eager to grab a shovel and dig and dig some more. I hunted about for my old rags…those weathered jeans and tees so weathered soft with emerging bald spots. Hastily these rags were thrown on along with fully caked muddy shoes and work gloves.

I was so ready.

In no time, my knees sunk into the just shoveled soil, dark and heavy, its musty scent tickling my nose. Beads of sweat flowed down my cheek to the rich soil. Into the fertile ground went seed and young plant, the earth mounded to support the fledging stem and leaf. Easing up from the sweet earth, I gazed on the rows of green, their stems lifting toward the sun and sky. Now established to produce a boastful crop of what was promised, whether herb or tomato, green pepper, or zucchini. The growth yielding to the anticipation of the backyard farmer, as he awaits the harvest with hard work and patience. The tradition of gardening goes on.

Swiping the dirt from my neck, I remembered those teenage years of planting grass in the muddy ground of our just built house. I also cultivated a portion to summer favorites of tomato, cucumber, zucchini and eggplant.

Moving on, there were the snug apartment residences, where a homemade table, carved from a weathered oak door, was platform to a year-round indoor garden for flowers and variegated plants. Once I was married and settled into a quaint home, a portion of the yard once a pool was repurposed to a garden. Although an amateur at all this, I was a farmer at heart who indeed wanted to play forward the tradition.

And I have to say…regarding my children who are now adults, they have made it their own by creating fun gardening styles. One fashions a lovely selection of succulents in her kitchen. Her brother establishes pots to seed veggies in a sunny window, then transplants to various nooks and crannies in the yard. My other daughter resides in the sunshine state and plants a winter garden in October that is shared by others in the community. Another brother wields the a shovel and cultivates the hard ground into our home garden. Although dirty and damp, he stands proud gazing at the even, ready- to- plant rows.  

I am not a solo flight as my husband also commandeers hoe and trowel, planting his portion of tomato and pepper. We are a team… sharing shovels, rakes, and a twisted garden hose.

When it’s time to call it a day, I shake off my muddy shoes, and damp socks. Then I head up the yard, the tender grass tickling between my toes. Looking up, I again pray for the right amount of sunshine, enough rain, and cooling evenings to yield a bountiful harvest.  

… “and that’s how I live it.”