Gardening

I hate gardening.

Let’s just get that out of the way up front. Hate, hate, hate. I don’t mind watering. I love seeing the the flowers in bloom. I love using the herbs and flowers that grow in the garden.

It’s the dirt I hate. It’s the digging in the dirt, lugging the dirt, filling the pots with dirt, playing in the dirt to get the plants positioned correctly. Dirt.

They say that in mental institutions, patients were allowed just to play in the dirt, pretending to garden, and it would make them calmer. The very thought sends me over the edge. Psychotic break much? Or as Monk would say. “I have nature all over my hands.”

I think the problem starts with the fact that there is mold in the soil. If I play in the dirt sans gloves my hands get red, itchy and they swell, my eyes itch and I wake up the next day with swollen eyes glued together. That happens even when I take allergy meds. Aversion therapy there.

I can’t stand getting dirt under my nails. That drives me completely nuts. I wear Mud Gloves. Those things are great. Cloth dipped in latex makes the gloves comfortable-ish, durable  and washable. As an added bonus, mine are purple. Mud Gloves do a good job at keeping the dirt on the outside — mostly . A certain amount always manages to find its way under my nails. Damned dirt is insidious.  Unfortunately, Mud Gloves do nothing for my eyes.

So here I sit, typing this with swollen eyes and planting half done. I ran out of dirt and still need another bag or two to finish the job. That means another trip to the garden center for the bags of dirt, more playing in the dirt, more dirt under the nails, swollen eyes in the morning, wash, rinse, repeat.

I hate gardening.

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