I was flipping through my new Martha Stewart magazine and I noticed an article. It was called “Digging In” or it might have been called “Digging In, Touch” or “Touch, Digging In,” I really couldn’t tell by the design.
But it looked pretty.
Anywhoo, the article, by Stephen Orr, starts out, “I am a gloveless gardener.” The article has a beautiful photo by Thomas Straub of these wonderful weathered hands, suntanned beyond recognition, tugging on a young lettuce plant.
I read it. It was short—just one page. It was what you’d expect—how it’s better to feel the soil, and feel the firmness of fall bulbs, feel the roots of a plant when you are re-potting.
The article mentioned how clean soil really is and sometimes all you have to do to clean your hands is wash them with soil and water or just rub your hands together until the soil falls away and—voila—they are clean.
What has this guy been smoking?
Has he ever heard of MRSA or pinworm or centipedes or black widows or...THE DREADED...
(Cue Slasher Movie Music)
THE DREADED...
Yes, that’s right, the Potato Bug, aka The Jerusalem Cricket, or, as I know them, THE SPAWN OF THE DEVIL.
The mere thought of these abhorrent creatures will remind me to keep my gloves on while gardening from now until I am pushing up daisies around the pearly gates and maybe even after that.
Today, I ran into to one those appalling beasts while doing some winter clean up. (see above)
I am a brave person but when my GLOVED HAND touched it, I threw down my trowel and ran screaming into the house to get my husband, who dutifully picked it up with a rake and took it away, far away.
As long as The Spawn of the Devil exist, I will keep my gloves on.
But it looked pretty.
Anywhoo, the article, by Stephen Orr, starts out, “I am a gloveless gardener.” The article has a beautiful photo by Thomas Straub of these wonderful weathered hands, suntanned beyond recognition, tugging on a young lettuce plant.
I read it. It was short—just one page. It was what you’d expect—how it’s better to feel the soil, and feel the firmness of fall bulbs, feel the roots of a plant when you are re-potting.
The article mentioned how clean soil really is and sometimes all you have to do to clean your hands is wash them with soil and water or just rub your hands together until the soil falls away and—voila—they are clean.
What has this guy been smoking?
Has he ever heard of MRSA or pinworm or centipedes or black widows or...THE DREADED...
(Cue Slasher Movie Music)
THE DREADED...
Yes, that’s right, the Potato Bug, aka The Jerusalem Cricket, or, as I know them, THE SPAWN OF THE DEVIL.
The mere thought of these abhorrent creatures will remind me to keep my gloves on while gardening from now until I am pushing up daisies around the pearly gates and maybe even after that.
Today, I ran into to one those appalling beasts while doing some winter clean up. (see above)
I am a brave person but when my GLOVED HAND touched it, I threw down my trowel and ran screaming into the house to get my husband, who dutifully picked it up with a rake and took it away, far away.
As long as The Spawn of the Devil exist, I will keep my gloves on.
BTW, gardener’s hands can look nice even after hours of daily yard work, please see my post “Nail Tips”
Goodness, I sound like an advertisement for myself.
I admit to bare hand gardening and worse, barefoot gardening. I know i need to work on that. Pehraps there is a group????
Posted by: Vickie Carmichael | February 20, 2010 at 06:09 AM
I'm someone who likes to garden with bear hands, but I've forced myself to learn to like gloves because (what is he smoking?) it takes hours to soak your nails clean after a good gardening session. And dirty nails are just not a good look!
Posted by: Kalynskitchen | March 09, 2010 at 04:02 PM
Hi Vickie,
I once stepped on a banana slug in bare feet-enough said.
Thank you for visiting.
Hi Kalyn,
I must admit I have been known to reach down and pull the occasional weed with my bare hands. I just can't help it but I try to wear my gloves most of the time.
Posted by: chigiy | March 10, 2010 at 07:30 PM