I’ve been scratched, bitten, stung, tripped, poked and slimed.

I’ve screamed (at a snake), slipped (over tomato vines) and gotten whipped in the eye (by a pole bean).

I’ve been taunted by Japanese beetles, who came by the dozen one day in July and lulled me into believing I had killed them all in my bucket of hot, soapy water. Then comes August and it’s “Revenge of the Japanese Beetles” in widescreen Technicolor VistaVision and disgustingly real Surround Sound (they sort of whir as they escape).

I’ve smooshed potato beetle larvae that somehow migrated from the eggplant to the potatoes. That’s gross. Smooshing, I mean. Well, that they migrated was pretty yucky, too.

I’ve run from the relentless horseflies that can fly faster than I can run and can latch onto you in the process of said pathetic run.

I’ve wrenched a foot and attempted the split as I’ve tried to tiptoe through the tangle of the vegetable garden, a place where tomatoes are hanging off vines well over my head (I’m a mere 5 feet 7 inches), where squash plants are so big my family could claim I was found as an adult under one of them since I spend so much time picking buckets of produce from beneath the leaf canopy, and where pole beans are strong enough to snap hardwood stakes and nearly topple metal replacements that took two people to wrestle into position.

I’ve felt the pain, the suffering, the muscle-aching agony of contorting to pick the fruits of all that labor.

I love gardening.

For in the midst of all that work are the moments to remember. Perhaps they are fewer than the hot, humid hours spent picking row after row on a hot August day, but those moments linger and ease those hot, humid hours.

There was that evening a few weeks ago when I was carting water from the rain barrels. It’s a tedious job that can require a dozen or more trips if everything is dry. I was filling one watering can, thought a leaf was plastered to the edge, bent down to pick it off so it wouldn’t clog the spout and discovered a frog clinging to the can’s lip.

I may have yelped in surprise – well, it moved – and then the frog kind of paddled around and came to perch half in the water. I put the can back on the deck and left the frog to cool his heels for the afternoon.

I realized later that the frog probably had been in the can all the while as I had been watering plants hither and yon. I had filled the can at least twice before I discovered I had a passenger.

When it happened a second time, I started to keep a lookout for the frog and sort of kept forgetting how heavy the cans were or how many trips I had to make. It hasn’t been in the can since, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same one hanging around the plants on the deck.

I keep hoping for a return visit.

And speaking of frogs, there was a pair of them swimming around the newly christened “frogbath” (it was the top to a birdbath) that holds overflow from a rain barrel. It’s white and they’re not but thought they were camouflaged enough to submerge themselves to eye level and await their prey. I stirred them up just to see them swim from side to side with their amusing little frog kicks and then settle back into position.

I envied them their pool of cool water that day.

Then there was the recent afternoon when I was picking squash and cucumbers and happened to glance toward my rejuvenated herb bed. If I do say so myself, it was gorgeous with its purple spikes of anise hyssop, its purple clusters of Verbena bonariensis, its purple spikes of salvia, its pink flowers of oregano, its deep green frill of caraway leaves and the odd hot red pepper hanging like Christmas ornaments.

The late-day sun was filtering through clouds and backlighting the garden, which was alive with all manner of winged creatures sipping nectar from the wealth of blooms. The hyssop is a particular favorite of the bees and several butterflies of varying origins. The butterflies also flutter atop the verbena nonstop daily, occasionally diverting themselves with a short hop to the oregano or hyssop and then it’s back to the verbena.

I walked over to smell the sun-warmed herbs, and the butterflies flew around my head and settled back on the blossoms.

It’s a memory so blissfully sweet in its peace and perfection that I can pull it out whenever I need to and look at it like a fine painting.

That’s what makes all the work worth it.

Janine Pineo is a NEWS copy desk and systems editor. Her e-mail address is jpineo@bangordailynews.com.