If you’ve known me for any length of time, you probably know I love to garden barefoot. If this is news to you, I invite you to click on the “Meet Cindie” tab and read a little background on my blogger name.
It’s not just being too lazy to put on my shoes (though that factors in some days), but something about my feet feeling the soil connects me to my garden. After a few hours of tending my flowers, I hose the dirt off of my feet and any stress and worries seem to have been washed away too. I am left with a sense of calmness, joy, and a deeper love for and awe of the Creator of it all.
But barefoot gardening does have its unpleasant hazards. The time when I missed my apron pocket and dropped a pair of garden shears onto my big toe immediately comes to mind. In that moment, there was no calmness and joy; it hurt so bad I couldn’t even muster a scream. Most of the time though, the painful moments are small ones, like the ouch of stepping on a thistle that needs pulling, a sharp rock, or the thorn of a stray rose clipping. Sometimes I even step on a desirable plant and feel a heart-sickening snap—my brain warns my bare feet to watch my step and tread more carefully.
The other night I was walking around the backyard deadheading and pulling weeds when I felt a sharp stab in the heel of my foot. My brain instantly sounded the pain alarm and told my foot to recoil and not bear down with all my weight.
Thankfully, my tough and summer-hardened soles also helped prevent this sharp, rusty object from penetrating my foot, but it still hurt like the dickens, causing me to hobble around for the better part of the night and next day.
As far as I can figure, after years of being buried when the McKee family farmland was bulldozed to become a Fitchburg subdivision in the late 1980’s, winter’s frost finally heaved this old screen hinge to the surface of our lawn, and there it stayed until it met up with my unfortunate foot. It made me wonder about the history of the land? What kind of building once sat here? A farm house? A dairy barn?
My foot has forgotten the painful mishap. I will continue my barefoot gardening, but sincerely hope my feet do not meet up with another one of these pain-inflicting gizmos. In the meanwhile, shoes or no shoes, happy gardening my friends.
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