I used to own a wheelbarrow. Thirty years ago I envisioned a vegetable garden in my large
We moved into the house in November. Eighteen months later I married a Canadian, sold the house AND the wheelbarrow, and moved to
Even though I no longer have access to or need of a wheelbarrow, I still love the idea of transporting heavy loads simply by lifting those two long wooden arms. Probably if I had one nowand if I had a garden large enough to require a wheelbarrowI'd get tired when I used it. I might find that I no longer had the strength to do more than one or two loads without taking a break. I might have to acknowledge that I am no longer 30. Or 40. Or, all right, 50. We'll stop there.
But my son has a wheelbarrow. His yard isn't huge, and he probably doesn't really need one. But I would never tell him so because I think the love of wheelbarrows might be an inherited trait. It may be in his genetic make-up that he simply must own a wheelbarrow to use whenever it is even remotely appropriate.
He also bought a child's wheelbarrow for his son, Sam, and the summer before Sam turned two, he eagerly pushed his wheelbarrow all over the yard while his parents were gardening. He obviously inherited my love of wheelbarrows.
Copyright 2010 Ann Tudor