So why, you must be asking yourself,  are you looking at my feet??? Whether it is age, or idiocy, I have decided to embrace my wierdness  and twirl around revelling in my odd world and you can come along if you want to , or leave screaming if it is all too much for you.

I garden barefoot. On the odd day I might don a classy pair of flip flops (hence the ever so lovely flip flop tan lines that grace the top of my feet and are impossible to hide in real life lady sandals), and on really tough gardening days like hard digging or sod removal I will force myself to wear real shoes, but really mostly barefoot. And, in case you didn’t notice it, my feet are pretty darn ugly.

Bill, who after a long string of losers wrapped in tin foil rode into my world as a bonafide knight in shining armour , and loves me unquestioningly head to ankle, HATES my feet. They were almost the deal breaker in our relationship because any offspring we had we likely be encumbered with them, but he overcame his revulsion and now just generally ignores them, although I do occasionally catch a glimpse and grimace from his direction when they are propped on a coffee table .

As the summer goes on I get “Indian Feet”, a condition that sounds nostalgic and all but really translates to super tough callouses and the ability to walk on any surface no matter how uneven, rocky, hot cold, or uncomfortable it may be. They also take on a dark as mud color due to the sun, and to be honest probably some mud too.

When I have to wear “girl clothes” in the summer, it all comes down to how to mask the feet, and the angst of it makes me want to stay home and skip the wedding, graduation or whatever all together.

When I garden for others, I am forced to wear shoes, and all I can think of is  Hank Azaria in the Birdcage when Robin Williams character makes him wear a tux and dress shoes. I plod about and walk in the garden like I had 10 pounds of wet trout growing out my ankles. (FYI  Unlike Hank I would NEVER sport shorty short cutoff jeans because there is a definite limit to my indecency).

So there it is, true confessions of a barefoot gardener.

My  first barefoot walk out  out this morning was awesome, the grass was  wet and cold and delightful, you can feel fall moving in ………… I wanted to grab a photo for you to cleanse your mind of the first offending one and end on a happy pretty note!