In response to my good buddy, Guy:

Here's the comment Guy left on this morning's post:

"Wait just a minute Missy, you are a gardener and you don't compost your coffee grounds? You have horses and you throw away your carrot peels? You have grease and you don't heat it up until it is liquid and mix it with bird seed? And you don't recycle your boxes? Are you sure you are a farm gal?"

Dear Guy:

I didn't garden for the past two years because it's painful. I have bad knees and bad feet. They hurt; now that I think about it, everything hurts. I'm sixty-five years old, and daily tasks aren't as easy as they used to be.

I'm tired, and when I'm done with my coffee grounds and carrot peelings, I don't have any desire to take a long walk out somewhere in the pasture and (a) toss them on a compost pile, or (b) feed them to a horse who, at this time of year is probably out on the back of our forty acres. Cliff is just lucky I made his coffee and cooked his meal on this particular day.

Guy, I'm tired. I only decided to have a tiny garden this year because I want some tomatoes, and I won't guarantee that anything out there in that plot will make it to maturity. Because if it isn't worth the effort and pain, I'll stop.

Let me hear from you when you're sixty-five. Maybe you can handle pain and weariness better than I can.

Just for the record, Guy: I think you're a fine person. There is no anger in this post. Just walk a mile in my shoes.

As always, I'll be looking forward to your daily posts every morning when I get up.