I marvel each time I get something done in the garden -- I am 76 years old! It amazes me how I can still do the things I want to, slowly and not as vigorously. My garden is small, I can manage it.
But I'm very aware that could all change. That nagging thought is always with me even as I feel good about what I can still do.
And then . . .
I fell and broke my foot. Multiple breaks. I'm on crutches and in a full boot, with no weight bearing for 8 weeks.
After the Coates tree guys left I saw the brown pot I like nestled in the juniper under the cottonwood had been moved. I picked it up to move it back.
It was too heavy and I knew that. So I rolled it a bit, but then hefted it up to just totter a few feet with it. Just a few feet.
I crashed. I tumbled over, the pot hit my foot and I landed in a heap in the gravel.
I am so mad at myself for lifting that thing when I knew I couldn't. I could have rolled it just the few more feet to its spot under the tree.
Now my garden chores and outdoor puttering on these warm late winter days are over. I'm inside, icing, elevating, and on crutches to go anywhere.
I'm not so amazed any more at my elderly capabilities in the garden.