I remember when I was young, my mother had a row of cacti lined up on the living room windowsill. One variety had beautiful red needles -- soft looking needles that begged to be touched. I touched. I screamed. My mom sat with tweezers pulling the beautiful red plant protectors out of my flesh. Yet, I still have a compulsion to touch.
I realize that this compulsion goes beyond plants. I find myself touching items I see in stores too. I see the same touchy-feel propensity in my child who I am forever scolding not to touch while we are in stores. (I realize that this is hypocritical, but certainly a five-year-old is more likely to break that which she touches than I am.) I tend to think of the senses of sight, sound, smell, and taste as more important than that of touch. But when I contemplate how much satisfaction I get from this particular sense, I realize that it is just as important as the others. (Have you ever been posed the random question, "Which would be worse for you, losing your sight or losing your hearing?" How many of us have considered what it would be like to lose a sense of touch?)
The garden is a wonder of touchable items. I love stroking leaves and petals. I have a friend who bats at plants when she passes. when we walk through a garden center together, she has the urge to hit extended blossoms and leaves with her open palm...to each his own?