Read by Christy Page

“Go to work, go to work, go to work, go to work,” chants the silent mantra in my head. While these words are ostensibly meant for my husband, Ed, I refrain from uttering them aloud. After all, I don’t want to inadvertently hurt his feelings. In truth, they’re just as much for me. The anticipation has been building for this week, my week off, where I get to escape the clutches of co-worker gossip and family drama to immerse myself in my true haven—the gardens.

Winter felt like an eternity, with Fairbanks, Alaska, occasionally boasting warmer days than our locale. To survive, I devoured every garden magazine in sight, scattering my desk with paper snippets of projects I yearned to try. The basement turned into a seedling sanctuary, harboring cosmos, gourds, zinnias, amaranth, popcorn, and castor beans yearning for their outdoor debut. I indulged in retail therapy, ordering an online green brigade set to arrive midweek. This week, I’d be on vacation, and my destination? My beloved gardens.

The day kicks off with a necessary ritual—walking the sass off my canine companions. Roscoe and Bodie, aka Stinky and Poopy (names interchangeable), embark on a park adventure, oblivious to the drama awaiting them at home. A treat heist and sibling quarrel later, I’m reminded that even in my garden sanctuary, family drama takes no breaks.

Undeterred, I dive into garden work, where the crows serenade me with their raucous gossip. “Talk about me all you want,” I jest with the feathery gossips. “I’ll be here all week, get used to it!” Forget the watercooler chats; I’m content with avian gossip.

As the day unfolds, I fine-tune the new garden, envisioning a limb from a neighbor’s poplar tree as a focal point adorned with an “Experimental Dandelion Farm” sign. A neighbor’s skepticism amuses me. Craft store visit for fake greenery? Maybe later.

By 3 p.m., I’m ready to call it a day, basking in the glow of a day well spent. A quick shower, and I’m on the deck with kiwi lemonade, eagerly awaiting Ed’s return. Dinner simmers, the aroma dances in the air, and life is good.

Each day blends into the next, featuring walks, fetch games, and the perpetual squabbles of my ratty terrors. The crows persist, but the other birds seem delighted by my presence, enjoying the bounty my gardening endeavors unearth.

Planting the new garden becomes a joyful project, punctuated by Ed’s surprise volunteerism with a variegated Norway maple. “Careful, honey, those castor beans might end up in the soup,” I tease him, and he obliges, proving to be a good hubby.

The week progresses with unexpected projects, showcasing my penchant for the whimsical. A Greek god bust donning sunglasses surprises Ed, and poplar limbs are fashioned into a potential topiary experiment. Even a seemingly dead limb in the new garden defiantly sprouts, a sight I can’t wait for my skeptical neighbor to witness.

By the end of the week, my body may be sending out a figurative “white flag,” but I feel rejuvenated and relaxed. Monday’s return to my paying job awaits, but for now, there’s no need to make soup … at least not today. ❖

 
About the Author: Laurel Radomski, hailing from Plover, WI, is an enthusiastic gardener whose stories have graced the pages of GreenPrints Magazine several times, showcasing her deep connection to the natural world.