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Gloves are an essential part of any gardener's equipment. They protect us from thorns, from getting cut on stubborn roots, or from feeling the slime of a slug on our bare, protesting skin. But while they protect us, they also act as a barrier. What good is a glove when you walk by a pussywillow and want to stroke the catkins?
My own gloves usually start out on my hands, but if I look behind me twenty minutes into any gardening project, I'll find them behind me somewhere. I rely far too much on my senses of touch to be able to garden comfortably with them. My fingers, rather than my eyes tell me when I have just the right grasp of a weed that I want to pull in its entirety. My fingers are my eyes when I probe through a tangle of foliage trying to isolate the one stem I want to pluck. Along the way, those tactile eyes that reside at the end of my hand also provide me with a lot of pleasure. Few people can resist stroking the pussy willow, or a planting of lamb ears (stachys byzantium). The soft, velvety texture is a reward as great as any garden picture. But if you sit in your garden, eyes closed, you can find many other tactile rewards. Try stroking the leaves of the various hostas. Some have a velvet bloom that feels almost powdery to the fingers. Some are corrugated like waxy seersucker; others are quilted. Get to know them with your fingertips and you will be able to give night-time garden tours without a flashlight. For something infinitely more tender, touch the tissue-paper thin petals of a poppy. Then grasp a bit of sedum and notice how that succulent tissue almost bounces under your fingertips. Brush against the velvety softness of a pansy's bloom, the fuzzy blossoms of the magnolia, or the prickly, defiant hedgehog-like seed head of the coneflower. Speaking of seeds, many flowers provide capsules that are a joy to play with. Balsam impatiens will explode at the slightest touch, while the spider-like pods of cleome split open with a satisfying pop and spill their bounty into your waiting hand. Poppy pods are fun because you can turn them upside down and shake the seeds out like so many grains of pepper. As a child, I loved the tickling sensation that comes when you hold a dandelion seed head to your nose and breathe hard, watching all the little bits of fluff scatter. Of course my mother never appreciated this particular pleasure of mine.
The copyright of the article Gardening for the 5 Senses Part II: Gardening for Touch in Virtual Gardening is owned by . Permission to republish Gardening for the 5 Senses Part II: Gardening for Touch in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.
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