I was working in my garden this afternoon when I noticed a wee old man standing in the corner watching me. It's hard to say how long he had been there; I was listening to an audiobook and between it and the work I was rather oblivious to anything else. But there he was, hands clasped behind the back of his faded, baggy overalls, regarding both me and my garden not unkindly. I squeezed my right airpod to pause the book, and stepped over to him.
"I'm Jim," he introduced himself.
"Tracey," I replied.
"Stacy?" he asked.
"Tracey," I repeated.
"I'm one of the head gardeners here," he told me.
"I know!" I laughed. "I've seen you on Zoom. You're like a celebrity to me, someone I've only seen on TV."
He shrugged modestly.
What I didn't say was that he was much shorter, and older, and frailer than he seemed on those calls. Far from being impressed or intimidated, I was a little concerned at the heaviness of his breath and the sweat on his brow. We made small talk about weeds and mulch and, when I mentioned that I was a teacher (who would have my garden shipshape once school was out), kids and education and the world today. Eventually he gestured to the mulch pile and wheel barrow a couple gardens away and said he should return to that task.
"Nice talkin to you," I said and squeezed my airpod again, but I kept on eye on his progress and noted the many breaks he took. At one point, I reviewed the first aid training that I had been required to take this year for recertification. Then, it seemed unlikely that I would ever need to rescue someone in distress, but this afternoon? It seemed like a good skill to have.
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