This morning I awoke with a start upon realizing that I would not be able to visit the farm for the next two weeks! Between work and an upcoming trip, my dahlias would be left to fend for themselves over the next 14 days. Intent on making sure they had all things necessary during my absence, I trucked on down for a few hours work.
Let me set this scene. The heat index surged to 105 degrees. The sun wasn't just out, it was white-hot. Within 5 minutes of walking the rows, I'd become a sopping hot-mess of perspiration. Afraid I'd pass out from heat-stroke only to be found during the autumn corn harvest, I doubled down and started weeding those dahlias with the vigor of a Super-Market Sweep Champion (you know you watch it). To get a better grip on the quack grass that is yet again my bane, I got down on all fours to increase my leverage against a weed whose tap roots appear to tickle southern China. Did I mention that Matt's brother Josh very kindly dumped a very large amount of (organic) manure on the garden? Well, he did. (Thank you!) This means that I am crawling though a fertile mix of mud-manure, sweating like a hooker in the Pope's presence, pulling furiously at weeds that were multiplying ever other minute.
|Kiowa did not come help today. He stayed in bed with the air on. This is a photo from last week. His favorite thing is rolling in the grass and listening to Lady Gaga, while watching his dads garden and drink Cosmos out of plastic cups.|
And, then, on the radio? An advertisement for a burger joint in northern Iowa.
Covered in more than mud, smelling worse than I care to admit, I looked up at the hot, white sky and thought to myself: How did I get here?
I smiled and got back to weeding.
Lots of things make crawling around in mud/manure/sweat 14.2 miles from Iowa more than worth it on a hot July day.
This happy, healthy dahlia is but one.