I see myself, sallying forth, a barefoot girl with cheek of tan. I am rudely brought back to the realities of the modern age by the reflection in my mirror. To whit, gardening has become a remarkably dangerous affair. What with the thinning ozone layer, sun spots and Lyme disease, gardeners take their lives in their hands every time they venture into the great outdoors. And while bicyclers and joggers wear Spandex and rip-stop nylon, gardeners are a group sadly overlooked by the fashion industry.
Long pants are de riguer, ditto ticks, thorns and poison ivy.
Gloves of canvas or leather, depending upon the season, are necessary to protect the hands from marauding enemies and just plain hard work. Sunglasses shield my eyes, with maximum ultra violet protectant lenses. Additionally, little wires run down the sides of my head, as I plug into a Walkman. Then it's on to the medicine cabinet, where I apply several layers of techno-weaponry. I have debated mixing these three varnishes together into a sort of all purpose shellac, as I never know which to apply first.