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Gardening Humor

When Falling in the Garden Isn’t the End

As I get older, I’m getting keenly aware that my body isn’t going to stand (literally) for what I’m used to putting it through, whether it’s squatting to pick up a spade or kneeling on rocks instead of a mat in my garden. Falling in the garden is always a risk, but the consequences of those falls get worse as we age. I want to do the work I love and need done, but I’m finding that my body needs more support than before. Fortunately, there are many products that make gardening easier on my joints and muscles. From kneeling mats to ergonomic shovels, pruners, and secateurs, to carts and wheelbarrows—these are all products I take advantage of now. I know one day I’ll even get one of those wheelie planting benches too, and that’s fine with me!

Today’s author Marcy O’Brien recently retired and now gardens in the evenings, but her replaced knees restrict her mobility. One evening while gardening, Marcy tripped over a long hoe and fell headfirst onto both elbows and knees. After assessing the damage to herself, she slowly scooched back towards her house until she was able to use a spade as leverage to stand up again. Despite cuts, scrapes, and swelling on her lip from the fall, Marcy was otherwise unharmed due to having “steel I-beams for bones”. As a result of this experience, Marcy has made a few new rules for herself. Keep reading to find out what they are.

Enjoy More Gardening Humor

This story comes from our archive that spans over 30 years, and includes more than 130 magazine issues of GreenPrints. Pieces like these that use gardening humor to turn gardening stories into everyday life lessons always brighten up my day, and I hope this story does for you as well. Enjoy!

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Fall!

That’s the easy part

By Marcy O’Brien

[cap]M[/cap]ost of my gardener friends work in their flowerbeds in the morning. But until I recently retired, my work schedule dictated that gardening was an evening pursuit. I would head out back after dinner to bustle among the bushes until it was too dark to spot another weed.

Since my decrepit body protests extended periods of edging, transplanting, and root digging, twilight is just about the right amount of exertion time. My replaced knees restrict kneeling, and it’s only so long that I can bend over like an open safety pin.

Time spent upside-down makes simple planting challenging as well. Sometimes I need help straightening up and resort to climbing up the handle of the pitchfork. Occasionally, I can dig and divide until the fireflies arrive; other nights, by the time I am able to completely straighten up once, I have just enough energy left to flop into my wing chair for prerecorded Jeopardy.

One night this past year, I collapsed all the way—and not into my chair.

Now, falling in the garden is never a good thing. Falling directly on your replaced knees is a very bad thing: the surgeons who sold me mine made a point of telling me that. So I work hard at de-booby-trapping my house. Anything on which I can trip or fall is banished from my indoor paths (although I have had some difficult discussions with the cat).

This particular evening, I decided it was time for dividing daylilies before their size made the task impossible. The clumps of tight blades were getting clumpier by the day.

I used my sharpest spade to stomp and slice the first clump into thirds for transplanting. I toyed with putting the biggest third into the wheelbarrow but decided I could just as easily carry it to its freshly dug new home behind the delphiniums. I wrestled the bigger-than-a-breadbox clump up into my arms, turned, took two steps—and went down like a tree. A sequoia.

Apparently, my long hoe had slipped from its stance against the wheelbarrow and decided to lie in my path. It threw me down faster than an angry Sumo wrestler. I crashed headfirst, full face, on both elbows and, God help us, both knees. The thud registered on the Richter scale here in northwest Pennsylvania.

I lay there certain that my nose was broken, as well as my four top incisors. My face was totally numb, and I couldn’t feel my elbows or knees. Motionless, I assessed the damage for a minute or two, praying this wasn’t a 911-type fall: Not the ER. Please. Not the ER.

Time to find out. First job was to roll onto my back, unburdening myself of the lilies that had been driven into my rib cage. By slowly pushing myself up to a sitting position, I determined that my elbows worked. I felt blood trickling down my neck, but my face was too numb to determine the source.

Now for the real problem: how to get up. You normal gardeners who’ve managed to keep your original factory body parts just roll over on your knees, bounce up, head for the house, and stop the gushing nosebleed. Simple as that. Not so for we of the joint-challenged crowd. One does not roll over onto one’s knees. Nope, nope, nope. Sooo…

I looked around the neighborhood and realized that no one was out walking or still working in their yards. It was 8:20ish. Darkish. I yelled for help. Nothing. Hmmm, not a good sign. After a few minutes of assessing my situation, interspersed with increasingly louder calls for help, I accepted the idea that if I was going to sleep on the bed instead of the sod, it was going to be up to me. So the sooner I stopped licking the blood off my upper lip and made it into the house, the better.

There is a spot closer to the house where the ground slopes down toward a flat area near the deck. If I could get there and set my legs well below my butt, I could probably push myself up the nearby tree trunk to a standing position. Seated with legs in front of me, I started painfully scooching forward an inch or two at a time across the yard—right buttock/heel, left buttock/heel. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Arriving at the top of the small incline, I saw that the angle wasn’t steep enough to work. Time to reassess.

Hey, I did pretty well in geometry. Maybe I can create the angle I need. I made the long return trip, scooching—buttock/heel, buttock/heel—to the lily bed to fetch the sharp spade. Then, I dragged the spade along and inched (b/h, b/h, b/h) slowly back to the slope. Marcy O’Brien—the world’s largest inchworm!

Sitting back at the top of the slope, I stabbed the spade into the ground as far below me as I could reach. I slowly transferred my weight forward onto the spade, praying its bite would hold, and gradually triangulated myself up onto my feet. Voilá—je suis verticale! Good thing, too: I didn’t think I had a scooch left in me. Back inside the house, I looked in the mirror and saw a few cuts and scrapes, teeth intact, grass ground fetchingly into my hairline. My bloody nose had reduced to a trickle, but the swollen split lip was a surprise. I was a mess, true—but whole.

I surrendered to my famed Bonehead Accident Self Healer (BASH) combination: long hot shower/double Tylenol/Irish whiskey solution. Works every time.

As I gingerly settled into my easy chair to watch Alex Trebek, I reflected on what I’d learned from the experience. First, I thought how lucky I am to have steel I-beams for bones. Second, I decided I’ll never garden again after dinner without my cell phone. Third, I’m going to keep on gardening, and gardening, and gardening.

As long as my parts let me. [double_diamond] [double_diamond]

By Marcy O’Brien, published originally in 2021, in GreenPrints Issue #128. Illustrated by Matt Collins

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Does this story remind you of one of your own about falling in the garden?  Leave a comment and share it with us!

By Amanda MacArthur

Amanda MacArthur is Senior Editor & Producer for Food Gardening Network and GreenPrints. She is responsible for generating all daily content and managing distribution across web, email, and social. In her producer role, she plans, edits, and deploys all video content for guides, magazine issues, and daily tips. As a best-selling cookbook author, Amanda cooks using ingredients from her outdoor gardens in the summer and from her indoor hydroponic garden in the winter.

11 replies on “When Falling in the Garden Isn’t the End”

Similar garden fall experience a few years ago… luckily had my cell phone with me. I called my daughter to come home and take me to the ED for x-rays. I was able to get myself into the house and clean up by the time my daughter got home. Grateful no fractures only bruises and angry tendons. I added a ‘walking stick’ to my garden adventures. His nickname is ‘Pogo’. The walking stick feels less geriatric than a cane. Pogo has saved me from a few stumbles.

Boy does this hit home. Desided that a green house was in the plans. got the ground ready with help from a bit of machinery well maybe lots as both hips and knee replacement have convinced me I am not as young as I think. Anyways there are piles around the half built greenhouse and I thought take the short route instead of taking the level safe route to get to the near end. Just cut across the ground and I can save 30 seconds. That was a mistake. Not lifting feet high enough to clear the weed covered ground resulted in a fall. as I am falling see that chunk of concrete on the ground that I would get around to moving some time. Did manage to twist a bit so hit it with the arm not the face so thats good. Now the part about getting up. That was not going to be easy. Luckly for me my wife was outside and saw me fall. Getting me was a challenge as she has hips and knees that need replaced. The joys of getting more mature as the kids say. She did manage to get beside me and let me climb up her like a tree not elegant but like a strong tree she got me up it was quit for the day. Unfortunately for me it triggered a dormant condition that sent me back to hospital and off work for a month. So plan B, C and D on the build. But still look forward to getting into the now raised bed gardens and greenhouse in the spring. What did I learn from this take your time and enjoy what your doing in the garden and enjoy. Your getting older and admit it to yourself. Yes I know not everyone is mature but they will get there sooner than they think. I know I did. Enjoy and have fun in the garden.

Boy does this hit home. Desided that a green house was in the plans. got the ground ready with help from a bit of machinery well maybe lots as both hips and knee replacement have convinced me I am not as young as I think. Anyways there are piles around the half built greenhouse and I thought take the short route instead of taking the level safe route to get to the near end. Just cut across the ground and I can save 30 seconds. That was a mistake. Not lifting feet high enough to clear the weed covered ground resulted in a fall. as I am falling see that chunk of concrete on the ground that I would get around to moving some time. Did manage to twist a bit so hit it with the arm not the face so thats good.

I also have had double knee replacements, 17 and 19 years ago, that are officially beyond their expiration date.. I always managed to twist in time to not fall directly on them but falling has become my nemesis. My method previously was to roll on my stomach, assume the ‘sit-up’ position, and push up with my hands until I got my bum high enough I could stand. Last year (at 80 and carrying a few? extra pounds) I just couldnt. My husband (88) has had ankle surgery and should not have been standing on the hill. I was sure I would just pull him down too. We laughed. Living on the top of a mountain in TN with no living person with in hearing range I was faced with the reality that I had become the little old lady in the commercials that had fallen and couldn’t get up. My husband decide to get the tractor, fortunately the bucket was on, lower it till I could slide my bum on and raise it till I was in a sitting position and could get up. Don’t laugh! We get resourceful as we age. I managed to find enough strength to get up before he got back…I think for the last time. I say God has given me some extra padding so a fall, with my osteoperosis, will not break my hip. Unfortunately it also makes it harder to lift myself up. I have started chair yoga. Wish me luck.

This past summer I was dead heading the roses in front of the back porch, some of them are easier to get to if I stand on the ledge of the walled patio, which is where it all happened. The ledge stone was lose and tipped, knocking me off my feet. Obviously I attempted to regain my balance but my legs were caught on a huge rock (lot of hard scape in the garden) which sadly continued my fall, finally slamming the side of my head into the edge of the cement porch. I was terrified, afraid to move. I heard my neighbour out and about in his garden, so yelled until he heard me. Unfortunately he couldn’t get through the gate as it is locked. Luckily, I managed to get up but the side of my head was bleeding and he called an ambulance. A few hours later the back of my ear was stitched up and I was able to go home with orders to take care. The wall has since been repaired, though I must admit to some hesitancy stepping on it after such a frightening experience and now even more nervous when the Great Grandchildren want to have adventures in the back garden, though if I was that young, I wouldn’t be able to resist climbing on and over the rocks and walls and let’s not forget the trees that invite you to pretend your a monkey, lol.

It is breaking my heart but the time has come where I need to give up my fenced in raised beds and container garden, I will be 87 , but I am still thinking I can have some veggies on the porch, good gardening to you all.

I’m to the point now where doctor’s orders don’t allow me to garden outside, and I can barely walk to get out there. A mental picture of a wheelchair looms over me constantly and I fight with all my might not to get one. Spine injuries and 7 plus surgeries have now made gardening impossible, so all is now overgrown, and I suffer along with my used-to-be gardens-all over the place. Thankfully, a beloved friend turned me on to hydroponics growing indoors and this absolutely saved my life. I now have beautiful Savoy cabbages, green cabbages and various other forms of green things growing all over my office and kitchen. Eventually the petunias had to go as they were all over the place and quite invasive, since their seeds look like dust and I had planted too many of them being unable to judge the size of dust! I dearly miss my outside growing and I have only fallen down once when my rubber boot went into a tree hole as I walked the grounds with my Mother one day. I wasn’t ready to retire from the gardens, however, my body has forced me to. I am nicely envious of anyone who can still go out there to grow, alas this is not my story any longer. Good luck to Marcy who still has much pluck but I do caution her to be careful and always keep your phone close by-you had quite a nightmare!

I can definitely relate to this story! It is very embarrassing when you cannot get up because your replacement knees don’t want to work. After falling in a newly worked flower bed, falling on top of my spider lilies, tripping over a dead tree and falling, keeling over sideways when I tried to take a picture, falling sideways when I was watering a hanging basket, etc., I never had more than a scratch until I fell in the concrete driveway. My watchful hubby was taking a shower! Like the author, I will keep gardening, gardening, gardening, as long as my parts let me!

I thought I was the only one who can’t get on my knees after double knee replacements & repairs to each knee. I always garden with my phone in my pocket & someone with me that can hear me yell or has a cell phone in their pocket too.!

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