The White Bucket

Every time I go outside to garden, I grab a white bucket from the garage. It becomes an extension of me as I move around from task to task. I might throw it a few feet away to mark the new spot I'll start to weed. I know exactly how far to toss an over-ripened squash to make it in the bucket without looking away from the plant I'm pruning.

I love this bucket.

Its uses seem endless. When I decide what I'm going to tackle outside that day, I toss the implements I'll need inside the white bucket and be on my way. If I'm nourishing plants around my yard with compost, I'll fill the white bucket and scatter handfuls as I make the rounds. I will use the white bucket to transfer 2 medium or several small plants from one location to another in the yard. If I was a kid, this bucket would be my binkie.

I love this bucket.

Not only is this bucket my most frequently used item outdoors, it is the most frequently used item I inherited from my father. It used to be his white bucket. He used to carry it will him on job sites. Filling it with rags, washers, paint, cement, or sawdust, perhaps. I have other things of his. I have nicer things of his. But I’m too scared to touch them or use them. I have a few items of clothing that I dare not take out of the drawer. A watch I wear only on special occasions.

Mike and I were about to walk the dog at my mom's house the other day, and it started to rain. I grabbed a rain jacket from the closet. It was my dad's. I cried the whole walk. I could remember hugging my father in that same rain jacket. I remember the way his arms felt through the cool, lightweight fabric. I could still smell the cigarette smoke baked into the threads.

I rarely use these things. I fear they will fall apart, or I’ll lose them. Not this bucket. It is one of those heavy-duty industrial buckets from Home Depot, you know? You can throw it across the yard, and it makes a pleasant hollow sound because of its thick, molded walls. I imagine one day my kids will stand on it, or use it as an astronaut helmet.

This bucket is used. This bucket is loved.

It is so appropriate this is the item I carry around with me every day to do my chores. It is a fitting commemoration of my father, symbolizing his greatest gifts to me: his industriousness, his intrepid can-do spirit, his earthiness, his humble beginnings and end.

I love that I am with him every day, working with his bucket.

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