Don't Get Comfy

Language evolves and grows. It changes with each generation that uses it. And that's quite right, that's how it should be. Most of the time.

When I was a kid there was no such thing as a "comfort zone" to step outside of. The closest thing I had to a comfort zone in those pre-computer, black and white, no private transport or inside toilet days was my granny's sofa, a big black and red leather number. I spent more pleasant times curled up on that sofa with a pile of good (and an even bigger pile of bad) books than I care to remember. Happy days, yes, but I wouldn't have described it as a comfort zone.

Fast forward… er… several years to today and I'm a much more rounded individual, in just about every way. So it's time to get off my backside. It's time to do some exercise. It's time to do something that I would never normally think of doing. To step out of my comfort zone, if you will.

It's time to volunteer to work with under-tens in a school garden.

The Beloved has been working there  for quite a while now and had asked if I would like to join her occasionally in guiding a class of thirty or so children in the gentle arts of planting, weeding and growing their own vegetables. Now I personally have no love of physical work, gardening or (whisper it) children really but honestly, how hard could it be?

Who would have thought that the answer would be "exhausting and like herding cats"? Bless them, the little loves were, I'm reliably told, much better behaved than usual but they were still more than a handful for me. Even organising a relay of kids with watering cans from tap to newly-planted pumpkins was chaotic.

"Thank you, but that's a strawberry, not a pumpkin. It's already been watered three times."

"Sky, does Taylor really look like he needs watering?"

"Are you really part of this gardening group? I know this looks more fun but shouldn't you be in class instead?"

We thought that we'd explained how food grows from seeds quite well until one little lad asked the brilliant question, "So are we growing jacket roast potatoes?"  I think he missed the interim 'cooking' section. They were all energetic and willing, I'll give them that, and quite well mannered too. None of them were rude and they generally listened to everything we said, even if it did sometimes go straight in one ear and out the other. I got called "Shaun", "Sir", "that big man" and (on one memorable occasion) "hey, you!" That particular little girl will go far.

I have no idea how parents of large families cope. My proverbial cap is most certainly doffed in your direction. But I'm still not going back next week.

© Shaun Finnie 2014