My finger is swollen because I went out to the front porch, barefoot, to water my flowers.
The tag on these pink impatiens claim they can tolerate sun. However, sun in June in the South is brutal. If those dramatic girls have to go two days without water they lay down and play dead. This morning after I watered them, I dragged the heavy pot to the other side of the porch to keep them more shaded. Nice of me, eh?
Well, the ancient ceramic pot cracked and spewed 20 pounds of dirt onto the porch (and my bare feet). Across the porch, the exposed wiggly worms and yucky larvae who lived under the pot were horrified at the scorch of sun. Can’t please everyone.
I assessed the situation and retreated into the cool house to
- find shoes,
- put up my hair,
- get the broom and shovel,
- and prepare to sweat.
I shoveled the dirt onto the top of a trash can and dumped it on a nearby flower bed. I dragged the broken pieces of crumbling pot in two trips to the other side of the garage. I swept a little, and realized the whole porch needed to be sprayed clean, so I dragged the hose (the closer one, the one without wheels that seemed quite full of water) around to the front of the house and sprayed down the porch. I also sprayed the shovel clean because it’s the one we use when we scoop up our neighbor’s dog’s poop and deliver it back to his yard. Multitasking at its best.
I should ease your worry about the flowers–they were in an inner pot propped on top of the 20 pounds of topsoil in the broken pot. They laughed at me through the whole fiasco. Mike’s face appeared at the window. He walked away shaking his head.
Then I put everything away. And while I unhooked the hose to drag it back around the house, wondering why I was wearing a white t-shirt for this work and how I got so sweaty in just 15 minutes, a very angry ant sunk his fangs into my finger.