The uniform’s getting a little shabby. So’s the gardener but let’s just not go there.
I have a friend, let’s call him Joe because that’s actually his name, upon whose routines I could invariably set my watch. It gave me comfort, knowing that even though I was in Minneapolis hours away from him, at 8:15 in the morning he was in a certain cafe, tearing his paper apart (sports first) and eating his bagel in a particular way. All that of course was thrown out the window once he married and became a father, but routines are kind of a good way to rule your day.
Never thinking I was a routine person myself, or even one prone to patterns of any kind, I had to change my opinion once I became a pseudofarmer. I realized quite quickly that if I did not have routines and even select outfits I would merely be running around with Gardeners’ ADD all the time, not really accomplishing anything. So yes, I have routines. And yes, I have a uniform. It is with some sadness that I reveal I have completely blown out my favorite pair of boots and, even to a conspicuous non-consumer such as myself, I need to replace them. Likewise my olive Carhartt carpenter pants used for gardening: I’ve blown holes in the knees (diligently and badly patched but I fear it’s for naught).
So. I thought maybe I should mix things up this year, and I bought a pair of really large bibb overalls at the Goodwill. I had to take them in a bit and even so I swim in them: a good thing when it’s hot, but a bad thing as they keep getting bigger until I wash them and shrink them down to normal. You know, I really don’t care for the overalls, hayseed image of myself aside. I really need to get myself a new pair of Carhartts. Too bad they don’t usually show up at Goodwill.
But the boots! I’ve replaced my eight year old Blundstone 500s (architect black of course) with a more appropriate mud-colored brown pair. These things are great: I used to walk to work in them (7 miles roundtrip) and obviously they’ve withstood years of farm life. The new pair will be my walking shoes for our trip to Boston; don’t think I will wear them to Tom’s opening, though. And it will be a while before they see the garden.
Old habits die hard, you know. And there’s still some life left in the old ones. There’s lots of life left in the old gardener!