|Snap, Crackle and Pop Here to See You|
I know what you're thinking. I really do. You saw the title of this latest blog posting and your heart sank. "Bill Bird has gone commercial," you thought. "He's traded in his heirloom tomatoes for some kid's cereal!"
The shame, the shame of it all.
But that's the furthest thing from the truth. You see, this blog posting could be named many things. It could be called "Gardening Hurts." It could also be called "Gardening Season is Over," because both titles would represent the truth. Gardening does sometimes hurt. And gardening season, although it's just now getting underway for some folks, has come to a rather abrupt end in the Bird Back 40.
|Nice toes! NOT!|
At least -- that's the story for crazy blog writer Bill Bird. As for the wife that is Venus? She may carry on with her seed planting ways. Her faithful husband will watch her efforts from the patio with a beer in one hand and a sad smile. For the first time in years, I cannot join her. I can only sit and watch.
You've probably guessed by now that I'm not schlepping for some kid's cereal. That "Snap, Crackle, Pop" sound I heard last weekend was all too real. Unfortunately, I didn't hear it while pouring milk onto a kid's cereal (although I wish now that I had). I heard that sound while stepping off the sidewalk in the Bird Back 40 while moving a heavy wheelbarrow load of compost to the in-ground test gardening bed. Unfortunately again, the sound came from my right foot.
That wasn't right. Did I step on something perchance? No? Is that blood? Where did that blood come from? From me? Those are the thoughts that first crossed my mind when I suddenly dropped that wheelbarrow load of gardening product and looked down. The bottom of my ankle began to ache. Which really isn't all that strange because at my age, after a weekend full of gardening, my feet not only REEK to high heaven they are also quite sore.
|Life in a BOOT that Never Comes Off|
But this was a different kind of sore. And the soreness grew into a pain that had me limping back to the garage and settling into the nearest chair. Something wasn't right. It wasn't until I tried to get back up some 30 minutes later (to attempt to resume gardening no less) did my ankle let me know that things were "not OK."
The hours following my little "garden accident" are still somewhat of a blur. I blame that on the numerous emergency room doctors and nurses that I visited that evening. For each one came armed with a horse-shaped pill, a glass of water and the instructions of: "Here, take this."
Since those pills made me feel somewhat better -- I had no problem with repeating the line of: "What? Another Percocet? For me? Sure!"
I would learn later that Percocet makes you somewhat happy and somewhat groggy. I don't really remember a lot of detail from those emergency room visits and followups with the Podiatrist, except that a partially torn Achilles Tendon and an aggravated bone spur in the heel are going to keep me out of action and in a lot of pain for quite some time.
I swore off the Percocet a few days back. I'll live with the pain instead. How people get addicted to prescription pain killers I'll never know. They just make me feel groggy and play all sorts of negative havoc with my digestive system. Plus, to be honest, I don't remember the pain ever really going away. I suppose it made the pain manageable, but given a choice, I'll opt for a clear mind and a painful foot any day of the week.
|Off Limits! Verbotten! Do Not Pass Go!|
And so -- that's it kids. The 2014 gardening season is finished for me. My number one love of life, other than the wife that is Venus, is off limits. There will be no digging in the dirt. There will be no weeding. There will be no fertilizing, no planting of seeds, no drip irrigation repair. Zip, nada, nothing.
There will only be this damn boot on my leg, a damn sore right heel bone and a cranky gardener who can only watch while others do.
I'll be honest with you. There's not much fun in that.