Gardening as exercise? No, as torture
Late June is a time to sweat, stink, get dirty and plant things. All at once, that is. The first three are easy enough. The fourth one? Around here, it’s brutal.
That’s because we don’t have dirt where I live. Trees, bushes, flowers-they aren’t planted in dirt. They don’t grow in dirt. The soil-if you can call it that-is heavy clay. Here’s what I mean:
Let’s say you want to dig a hole 8 inches across and about 6 inches deep. You take your shovel and, using your foot, drive it into the ground. But you can’t use the shovel as a lever to break the dirt (clay) up to remove it from the hole. Instead, you have to drive your shovel into the ground on the opposite side of the hole. Chances are you’ll have to do this twice more, covering the entire circumference of the hole. Finally, you’ve loosened the clay to the point that you can get it out of the hole-and it all comes out in one big clump weighing, oh, 35 or 40 points. That’s a lot to keep balanced on the shovel blade while you try to drop the chunk of clay into a wheelbarrow.
And remember: That’s for a small hole.
Planting even the smallest perennial is a chore, and Sherry and I have spent probably 12 hours over the last three days planting things out back. That may not sound like much, but with the clay, heat and humidity, it’s been only slightly more appealing than the idea of being waterboarded. We have hired landscapers to massively overhaul the front and side of our house, and they have removed every significant bush and shrub we had. So we’re transplanting the stuff we like out back, and, unlike professional landscapers, we have just one guiding principle: “It looks good right there.”
The joy of looking back and appreciating what we’ve done, though, is more than offset by the sheer fatigue that occurs during the digging and planting. Truth be told, after I’ve done about two hours of it, I usually uncork a string of F-sharps, throw my shovel down, fling my soaking headband away, wipe off my head with a wet towel and spend about an hour recovering and realizing that there’s more to do. A lot more.
I hear people say they like gardening because of the exercise. To them, I say, “Stop by my place. I’ve got your gardening exercise right here.” The Fire Department would need a conveyor belt to carry the exhausted bodies from my yard to the ambulances.