It appears nylons on legs have become passé. No longer are a lady’s pale limbs discretely covered with the coveted silk stockings of the war years or the pantyhose that came in egg-shaped packaging. They don’t work with flip flops, anyway.
Still, when the wind chill is arctic and the snow is ankle deep, and when a long skirt is in better taste than snow pants; some nice thick tights are a welcome protection.
So when my winter stockings decide to run they get a second life in my garden.
Since our growing season is well under the time necessary for tomatoes to mature, I prune the plants down to a single vine by trimming out the branches that sprout in their “arm pits.”
Then I use lengths of nylon stockings to tie them to poles so they get plenty of exposure to sunshine.
I don’t get as many tomatoes, but the ones that grow get to be good sized and most of them ripen before the killing frosts in September.
Along with tying up tomatoes I spent my afternoon ripping out the bindweeds that persist despite my best efforts to exterminate their evil carcasses. And there’s no digging them up by the roots. I’m positive they begin their lives in the underworld and grow up from there.