Came home a little early to get the tomatoes, canteloupes and cukes into the ground. Brilliant day for it, sunny but not hot -- who's going to grudge me a couple of hours?
Did the work -- compost, mulch, water. Satisfied, I picked up my tools, dumped them into the wheelbarrow, humped the whole package to the shed. Inside, I was restoring the shovel to its customary place --
-- And stepped on the tines of a garden rake that leaned against the shed wall. Whack! the handle smacked me right across the eye. Glasses went flying, gloves, trowel and watering can hit the floor, and a single syllable of rage escaped my lips.
This is what we are reduced to, isn't it. You think it's pretty funny -- until it happens to you.
I can't tell yet if I'm going to get a shiner. The orbit of my right eye hurts pretty good. The floor of the shed is gravel, and I couldn't find my glasses for the longest time -- groping around on my hands and knees, muttering dark imprecations against an inanimate object that I myself had placed in ambush last week. Goddamned stupid rake.
Goddamned stupid gardener.
(Hey -- I can't remember who it was that suggested the Newspaper Method for keeping down weeds, but it's a peach. Reduced my workload enormously. Once I learned to put down four or five sheets instead of just one or two, not a single bit of unwanted vegetation dares to show its face.)
