The barefoot gardener

I grew up in Africa, where shoes were an optional extra. Mine sat in the cupboard or under the bed or (probably the majority of the time) in the middle of my bedroom floor. Kicked off as soon as got home from school, I would abandon them, change out of my uniform and escape outside.

As children we would free range, sometimes with shoes but mostly, we were happily dust red and barefooted.  Even as a teenager, shoes were added only if we were 'going out' or to school/college/shopping.

I can remember when I was about 11 or 12, hesitating just on the threshold of a thorny bushy strip between where I was standing and the dusty track behind the house where my friends were standing waiting for me.  Although a hardened barefoot 'explorer', I felt this bit of wilderness, this bit of 'bundu' was just a little too spikey, a little too thorny and I wondered if there was a bush-path or connecting track. Pricked by the comments by my less than impressed peers at my cowardice I was about to turn back and give up when an African man who'd been walking up the same path stopped and said to me ..... 'Just run, run like there is nothing there'.

So I did.

And at the other side as I pulled out a number of devil thorns from my foot, it was with a feeling of elation. I'd not felt them as I'd run, nor did I feel them as I removed them from my heel, it was only later, in the evening that my foot felt bruised. However, my ego was not! (picture source)

Coming to England was more than a culture shock. It was a hard lesson in shoe wearing.

I did try and bare-foot it the first year when ever I could, but eventually the cold and hard ground, the cold beach sands, the rather disapproving looks forced me to don shoes. It felt rather repressive (and unfortunately necessary as winter approached!)

Over the years, during summer holidays and warmer weekends at home, I have resorted to being as barefoot as possible when outside. This weekend I managed to garden entirely-ish with naked feet and it felt brilliant.

The grass had been gently warmed by the sun but still damp from the morning dew and the ground beneath I could feel was still cold and asleep.  I love the feeling of grass between my toes, I love the direct contact of soil against my feet, I feel as if I am connecting with the earth.

As the day progressed, standing on the hot paving slabs was positively delicious, the cats agreed and lounged around like baking lizards.

Eldest repotted most of his house plants - he has a very 'male' taste in plants, venus fly traps, cactus, succulents, palms and ferns. His bedroom at one time had about 15 pots but now each Sunday when he returns to uni, a box of greenery leaves with him. He won't be able to move in his uni room soon!

Youngest was snowed under by coursework so disappeared to his desk and papers, we did managed to drag him out for his dose of sunshine D with the promise of lunch on the lawn and mug of tea and cake in the afternoon.

Moss on the other hand preferred the cooler slabs in the greenhouse (we've got covers on the sun-side of the greenhouse as it get extremely hot and arid in there!) She is gently settling in to the art of gardening-by-pets (sleeping in the sun/shade/grass/greenhouse) and can be often found with a happy smile on her face as long as the big scary tools are moved calmly and quietly and in the opposite direction.  Anyway a sneaky dog biscuit can often soothe any tension should hammering or sawing occur.

This weekend was quiet, slipping through our days gently. 

Nothing happened, lots happened. 

Swallows and swifts held screaming parties in the air.

Gardening, breathing, living.

Just how I like it.

And you?
Do you yearn to walk barefoot?
Did you garden over the weekend?
Was your weekend a gentle healing restful one?

I love to know what you get up to :)

Thank you for your lovely comments and welcome to my new followers - glad to see you here in my little corner of the world.