Dirty Hands, Happy Heart

Colourful PVC Wellingtons
Image via Wikipedia

It’s a gorgeous spring day – too warm for a fleece jacket in the sunshine. The birds are going mad with joy and so am I. I’m bad in the garden, pruning bushes and fruit trees, getting dirt under my nails, revelling in being able to bend and dig and haul stuff around with a minimum of aches and pains. being outdoors always reminds me of my Dad – he was such a farmer, happiest when he was ‘mucking about’ as he called it. I’m convinced he could grow plants from seeds of stone!

The little girl next door – all bright fuchsia coat and strawberry coloured leggings that matched her rubber boots – followed me around, chattering about school and singing me songs she’s learned. Sweet.

The grape vines are so tangled and tall this year. We had a great crop of tasty purple nuggets last year and I made ten jars of freezer jam, which we just finished off. So lovely to have for breakfast – not just the taste, the memories of clipping the fat bunches in the warmth of September and the grandchildren squeezing them between their fingers for juice.

Hub unwrapped the summer furniture and carried it to the upper deck. No mouse corpses inside this year. It’s a beautiful day. Life is wonderful. I am so blessed.


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