There's something very satisfying about a day of physical work. I was never really a gardener, but I have always had a large garden. In New Zealand, I must admit, much of the work was done by my dad.
Today, in preparation for the olive picking, all the grass was cut, the weeds trimmed back, the place given a really good spruce-up. Carried away by this, I took the loppers and the secateurs next door and attacked the ivy and the weeds there too.
Now, covered in scratches, itching and bleeding, (blackberry in the ivy, rose thorns in the hedge) and fighting the snuffles from pollen allergies, it feels like a good day's work has been done! It is only 5p.m, but in another life in another country that was time to close the doors and head for home. Here it is time to take a break, freshen up, and head out with friends for an evening of sight-seeing and fun.
My dream life?
No.
A good life?
Yes!
.
1 comment:
Trade my day of puke for your day of hard work?
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