Farewell, trusty helpers.

I am mourning today the loss of . . . my favorite gardening gloves.

You have served me well, you lovely, spring green gloves emblazoned with the word “GARDENER” across the knuckles. You fit so well, and remained at the ready for any task, large or small, over the last few years. How will I go on? Something vital will be missing from my garden endeavors. I fear I will be less productive, and I hope that my garden will not suffer as a result of this tragic loss.

Yes, I have a picture of my garden gloves - what of it?

How could such a thing happen, you ask? Every gardener knows she must guard and protect her precious helpers.  Alas, I was careless.

After working on the gardens at our neighborhood club on Monday, I removed my trusty gloves and placed them on the hood of the Beast (my SUV). I know, I know, I hear your indrawn breaths of horror. I think I retrieved them from this dangerous spot, but . . .

When I arrived home I realized I could not find my friends. I searched in the car and in the house, to no avail. My daughter and I revisited at the club, and then scoured the roadside to see if I had indeed left them in that terrible place and they had blown off – again, to no avail.

Maybe they have run away and are hiding, in retaliation for my carelessness in placing them – even for a few moments – in such a dangerous situation. If that’s so, and they somehow hear about this post, I say to them, “I’M SO SORRY, SO SO SORRY! PLEASE COME HOME! I NEED YOU!”

Perhaps you think I am being melodramatic. I assure you, this is not the case. I don’t know about other gardeners, but my garden gloves usually do not last long:  the fingertips wear out or they split between the thumb and first finger.  They are too large or too small; too heavy or too thin.

These are the perfect gloves. I bought them at that behemoth W**M*** - not normally where one finds fine gardening tools. I bought a first pair, and they lasted for much longer than other gloves. Several years later, I found another pair there – only one – and brought them home. We have been very happy together, these past two years. They were aging, like me, but still (like me!) had some good years left.

Now they are gone, GONE, I TELL YOU.

I’ve not been able to find the next generation at the behemoth, nor on the Internet. If I could find them, I would buy a dozen and hand them out at Christmas to those who would appreciate such paragons. (If you are rolling your eyes at my histrionics, and muttering “Good grief,” you are not on that Christmas list.)

I hope you don’t think I am being heartless in my speedy quest to replace my old and trusty friends.  It is the sincerest form of appreciation, knowing that my life will not be the same without these companions.

And after all, they are just gloves.

Favorite spot in the garden:

It’s raining as I type, a slow gentle rain tapping on the tin roof. I have finished planting (except for two silver dianthus). All of the new (and established) plants are bedded down out there, soaking up the good rain and enjoying a respite from the beaming rays of the sun. My favorite spot today is all of my garden and property, happily sucking up the good rain. I can almost hear it happening over the  drumming on the roof!

You see here my highly sophisticated rainwater collection system.