Last Friday, I attended an excellent writing workshop for gardeners. Now, don't get me wrong....I am as giddy as the next teenager about sitting in a beautiful garden with a glass of viognier or cup of hot Starbucks in the early morning. However (big "however"), I don't really like gardening (the act of) very much at all. I like the fun stuff -- but, please honey, leave the manual labor to someone else. If I break a sweat, I'm a mess. So, back to the workshop....It was a really fun day. Ten of us with topics such as your earliest garden memory, your favorite gardening tool, what do you see outside right now, favorite gardening book, favorite flowers and vegetables, gardens that have made an impact on your life. We looked at lots of inspiring poetry and essays and did plenty of writing (have any of you written anything by hand lately, no computer??). It was held at the Northwest Viticulture Center a few miles west of Salem, Oregon -- far up on a hillside where we could look out and see the Willamette Valley. The grounds were absolutely beautiful and a perfect spot to spend the day. Vineyards, forest, fields, tons of trees and birds. We laughed and cried. It's amazing the impact that gardens and the outdoors plays on a person's life. It was only when we took the time to really explore it that we discovered that. Since I had no favorite tool to take with me (remember, I'm no Martha Stewart), I chose to write a bit about an old bucket that one person brought. I'll include that piece here:
I think it was older than she was -- and probably as strong. Incapable of leaking water except as a result of a dramatic accident or damage.
The metal bucket had been around a very long time. The handle squeaked loudly. I think it had been used to carry water, stand on to reach tall shelves, toss yard clippings in, gather apricots from the tree by the gravel drive, and bring in kindling to start a fire in the wood stove.
But today, it was filled with cold water from the old hose by the well. "Not too full now," she yelled at me from the kitchen window of the old farmhouse. Someone, I don't remember who, was already busy picking an armful of flowers ...peonies, iris, lilacs. The old water bucket never looked as stately and proud as when she was filled with well water, fresh-cut flowers, and loaded into the trunk of grandma's red Mercury Comet, circa mid-1960s.
And so, off we went -- many Memorial Days -- to place bright flowers of remembrance at the granite stones of family gone before us.
The bucket returned home, in all of her beaten-up glory, empty, well used, and ready to perform her next priceless task.
11 comments:
It sounds like it was a beautiful way to spend a day! Thanks for the story; it made me smile.
I'll have a glass, too.
Lovely story.
Hubby enjoys digging around in the dirt. I, on the other hand, really enjoy watching him do that. He's so cute when he gets all dirty...
Hope you have 'bucketloads' of love today.
What seemed to be my first water bucket I can recall.
It was short, plump and round. But not very tall.
Steel in construction with an aerator red and green.
Colors that would flake off in places and no longer be seen.
It was a sturdy bucket that handled many fills and spills.
Reminiscent of those fabled Jacks and Jills.
A handle allowed for a restful place while water came from the tap.
I would lug the bucket to Mom, planting flowers filling in the gap.
Nowadays, it’s just a matter of buying more and more hose,
To make sure the water can reach where the planting goes.
And attached to the hose is the latest state-of-the-art dissipater.
Giving you the option of pulse, stream, or aerator.
I love garden centers, planting and putting in the labor,
To see the garden bloom and grow a water bucket or two later.
What a lovely piece! Thank you for sharing that with us! :)
No "favorite tool" on you, eh?... there's a pervy remark in me that's dying to escape!
Great story. And it didn't have anything to do with a man from Nantuckett! (groan, yes, I went there.)
Lewis, you continue to amaze me with all the different things you do. Thanks for sharing your writing with us. You are a talented guy.
Wonderful, Lewis. Priceless, indeed.
I only recently discovered Viognier ... yum! I'm back to whites after a long monogamous relationship with Red Zinfandel, and I'm playing the field once again!
Oh Lewis, your story about the bucket was a beautiful bit of prose. Excellent. Thank you.
And Steven's follow up bucket ditty was great.
And since Christopher won't go there, I sure will: Hire a hot, shirtless gardner who wears short-shorts to do all of your 'dirty' work, and then you'll also have your favorite 'tool' taken care of... ;)
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