“It’s dark as I write this. Daily life has gotten strange, for Americans, in many, many ways, landing somewhere between cognitive dissonance and outright horror. But since work is something I’ve always relied on to keep me upright, I will jump at the chance to set a time, and meet up at a job. This morning is no exception. I fly out the door, start the truck, and begin to pack in my gear. Ah, but an alert comes on the screen,, reminding me about the slow leak in the truck tire, which I’d forgotten about. A delay, I must comply with, before I can taxi out my runway. Running 15 minutes now, I lean my head, my shoulder, and my weight, against the metal of the truck bed, as the compressor rattles, holding the trigger of the battery powered tool, with one, then both hands. It can be a kind of meditation, when one is forced into subservient postures, such as these. The Ryobi compressor, a gift from my son, and what a stroke of genius it was to free me from having to pull into gas station air pumps, or bother him, to pull out his, at all hours of day and night. I plan for my days to run smoothly, but they don’t often. So when I get to my favorite garden center and they’re out of spring bulbs, I don’t flinch. I head to Home Depot instead, find a depleted supply of tulip bulbs, and even though I don’t want to shop at a big box store, I wipe out what’s left of their inventory. Quickly bypass the self-checkout, & aim for the one isle still manned by a human. She seems delighted to see me, though it may only be a reflection of my own relief at not having to deal with automation. I watch, rapt, as she scans in box after box, mesmerized by the beeps, as the aroma of hot dogs wafts in from the parking lot. The glossy boxes of precious plant matter from Holland go by, colorful, almost fragrant though hermetically sealed, and the dirt where they will be planted starts to swim before my eyes. I feel thankful Vermont is not yet entrenched under frozen conditions. Wheeling my cargo out thru the triggered doors, careening my cart between trucks and over-anxious cars, I feel giddily gratified, though somewhat crestfallen as I am still bereft of daffodils. I load up, and as I pull into the job site, a fast food diner, my crew soon arrives. “What about Lowe’s?” says my crew chief. I nod, and give in. “If you want to drive there” and when she nods, I throw her my keys. I’d rather not be fighting traffic on the beltway; instead I turn to my primary target: that of wrestling a gigantic, ancient peony, out of the ground, to be divided. I can vouch that this is the first job I’ve had since waitressing I’ve performed in front of people chewing, who likely didn’t bargain for a meal with front row seats overlooking me. For the elderly, it’s possibly nostalgic. For kids, a spectacle. I am proud of folks who dare to order fries before noon; they may feel proud of me, as I attack a plant as old as my children with muscle & a bit of panache. One patron, “I’m a retired oncologist”, she says, has come outside seeking advice on winterizing her roses. “I don’t want to take you from your work” she says, and I say “We’re here to talk to people, too” which is honestly how I feel although no one paid me to say it. She next begins to lament her choice of hiring a particular landscaper. “I asked him not to cut anything but the hydrangeas, and he cut everything but”. I know how it is. I goof up sometimes, but not a lot. I’ve learned much of what I know the hard way. Probably too much that way. Which is why I work with a gentle touch now, and extend that same latitude where I can, to those who deserve it, which is most of us.”
