After a month in a boot, nursing a broken foot, I was finally able to place weight on my foot, and the first thing I did was go to the garden. I longed to be outside, digging in the dirt, reconnecting with the earth.

Four hours in, I considered stopping. I was tired. I was sweaty (so sweaty). I was hungry. But just one more weed to pull.

I suddenly felt pain on my left calf. Had I landed upon a briar? I pulled my pants leg up, and a wasp flew away. Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.

I feel sorry for bumblebees. They sting you, then they die. I do not feel sorry for wasps. They sting you, and sting you, and sting you. Over and over again. This was my sign to leave the garden for the evening. This was not a point of delight.