Earthly Possessions: Gloves

Deerskin leather gloves, the one outdoor-wardrobe item I grab and wear almost daily -- and I nearly didn't buy them because they cost $15 at the feedstore ten years ago. They've pulled poison ivy and briars, yanked cedars out of the earth, defied barbed wire, helped me plant and garden; steadied my hands on brooms, weedwhips, hoes, rakes, hoses, brushcutters, shovels, saws and crowbars; helped me carry ladders and cinder blocks and broken branches, and claw wet leafmeal out of gutters; and indoors they've helped me pick up shards of ceramic and glass. When they're really muddy I run' em through the washer and let 'em hang by clothespins to dry. I'll completely destroy women's garden gloves in one hour, men's regular work gloves in one day, part-leather work gloves in a week, but these deerskin gloves are gems -- also a rare great fit for small hands! -- and have redeemed their price 100 times over.

Change, Adventure, and Surprise

I won't look farther than my own backyard for an epic task that will change my entire life. I need only to clean the garage. And then stuff my little car with junk and go to the recycling place.

Today, a rainy day, I got at it, wrestling with cardboard boxes, stacking the empty five-gallon buckets, bagging up a lot of plain trash, some inherited when I moved in 8 years ago: bags of concrete mix that absorbed moisture and solidified; avocado and yellow vinyl window shades. For the first time I noticed a ladder had actually been built into the garage wall so that junk laid across the ceiling beams could be retrieved, although it seems that the point of putting it up there was that it would stay there for all time.

So I staggered around with my two obsolete TVs and as much of the cardboard as would fit and drove in the pouring rain to the recycling place, my first visit. Duller than a cemetery: rows of battered dumpsters, a corrugated building with a driveup ramp and a big scale for measuring the weight of aluminum, copper, and whatnot. They pay by the pound for those metals. They'll take computers, appliances, plastics, for free. But the one thing YOU, the donator, have to pay THEM to take -- is TVs, at $20 each.

The man was good enough to bring my 50-lb., 25-inch TV out of my car for me. Sighing invisibly, because I wanted to be perceived as a good brave recycler and savior of the earth, and finding that this left me feeling very Caucasian, I began writing a $40 check, taking out my driver's license as I did so. "No need to show a driver's license," he said. "People who recycle don't write bad checks. We know that from experience."

Scent of Sassafrass

Sassafrass (sassafrass albidum) runs wild on this property and friend of mine unearthed a root so we could inhale its fabulous, characteristic fragrance: rootbeer plus anise. The wild foods book says that sassafrass has been found to cause liver cancer in lab animals, and we aren't supposed to steep the bark and drink sassafrass tea like great-grandparents did, for a tonic, back in the day; but just to ID it and sniff it and dream of being back in the day is fun on a July afternoon.
"Sassafrass" is a corruption of the word "saxifrage," which ultimately means "to break rocks." To ID it -- it's common --look for distinctive "mitten"-shaped leaves. Sometimes they're three-lobed and rounded, like Casper the Ghost throwing up his hands. This is a plant you won't forget.