Yesterday the task was to plant spinach. I knew exactly which bed it was to go into. Put the packet of fresh seeds, yard stick for measuring between rows, fertilizer (organic not petroleum-based), hoe and rake in the wheelbarrow and walked the 20 or 30 feet from the house to the raised beds that are my vegetable garden.
As soon as I got there Page called out, “Do you know where I can find the other glove?” Ready to mow the lawn, he was holding up one bedraggled garden glove. I had looked for its mate the day before with no luck. Put down my stuff and walk over to search for a pair other than the one I was wearing. Rejected two pairs of rubber kitchen gloves that I use to attack the poison ivy. We agree that we’ll need two pairs of new gloves. Back to the spinach when I spot a pair of gloves I had left there the other day. Back to Page with the gloves then back to the spinach. I had installed the plastic raised bed late last year. “Not enough dirt,” I realized after raking and hoeing. Back to Page. “I need to go to Hollande (the local garden store) for dirt and compost.” “You can’t,” he huffed. “I loaded all of the Civil War books in the trunk before I came down.” All meant the 28 volume Time-Life series on the Civil War. We decided to give them to a friend and Page had promised every day for the past week to put them in the car. Yes, I had nagged. He chose to do it today. No room for bags of dirt and compost. By the time the lawn was mowed and the books delivered (20 minute drive each way), I had dealt with PayPal and eBay, and he had sorted out a flim-flam transaction, we were both too tired to go to the garden store. This morning it is raining. The spinach seeds are still in the packet