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 hurt (broke?) my foot.
After the Coates tree trimmers left I noticed the big brown pot that 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.
Now I am laid up, icing a nasty big swollen foot that is painful to walk on. The back of my leg hurts too, I stretched out the muscle behind the knee.
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.
And now my garden chores and outdoor puttering on these warm late winter days are over. I'm inside, icing and taking Advil.
I'm not so amazed any more at my elderly capabilities in the garden.