We didn’t get to plant our garden today because the bales of hay are still registering over 100 degrees. Yes, I have to take their temperature every morning. We can’t plant until they come down to about 70 degrees.
Yet, I was so into the gardening mode, that I spent the next six hours doing heavy labor in my yard – pruning, pulling weeds and such.
I was really getting into it, when my neighbor joined me. We decided to cut down the screen of unknown stuff that separates our yards. We pulled, sawed, cursed and took our piles to the curb trying to beat the city’s truck that only picks up yard debris on Thursdays. It became kind of a game – who could drag the most debris to the curb in one trip?
My biggest haul was a big old hunk of what I thought was Virginia Creeper. He took one look and said, “That’s poison ivy. Go inside and wash your hands with Clorox!”
I began to itch everywhere. But I did what he instructed. So far, no break out but I’m turning red from the Clorox burn.
The most rewarding event of the day occurred while I transplanted a perennial begonia Shirley Dawkins gave me. As I scratched some composted manure into the planting hole, a beautiful spotted sage-green frog was starring me in the face. I’d never seen one that pale, or so close without hopping away. We looked into each other’s eyes, and I swear we fell in love.
Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I saw a frog. Maybe not for 20 years. Growing up, they were everywhere. I’d heard the entire ecosystem is in danger because the frog is disappearing. I’m going to adopt this one and hope he turns into a prince.
I’ve named him Hazel, in honor of my friend, Linda Hazlewood, who was terrified of frogs. She was my playmate growing up and later my college roommate. I could totally control her by saying the work “frooog.”