I’m All out of Gloves*

I’ve just finished a full weekend of weeding**, which has reminded me that before relocating to ‘the land’ I would have been wise to buy shares in a garden glove company.

Feeding weeds to the worm bin after a  long overdue weeding blitz in the veggie garden.

I can’t count the number of pairs I’ve worn out in the last three years. Work gloves are almost as useful as gumboots in our new-found rural lifestyle. They are, if not actually essential, certainly highly desirable for all manner of tasks: weeding; chainsawing; chipping (no not that kind, this kind); fertilizer pick-up, moving firewood, more weeding; planting trees; planting pretty things; throwing weeds on the bonfire; splitting firewood; brushing muddy ponies; and did I mention weeding? And as with gumboots, we have a healthy selection of gloves on the back verandah. No visitor’s offer of weeding is ever turned down on this land.

The family glove collection in various states of disrepair

There are five of us on the property, all tearing (literally and figuratively) through gloves. So, if you’re reading this and you happen know of a glove manufacturer in need of a full and thorough product testing service, consider this a wholehearted offer to assist.

Interestingly it’s the left thumb and the right middle finger on my gloves that always seem to fail first. Goodness knows what I’m doing with those digits to account for resultant holes, but I’m pretty sure my regular reader Sukalati will have some lewd suggestion to make in the comment box.

* Kudos to those children of the 80’s who recognised the truly awful pun.
** That was last weekend. Took me a while to get this post written.