Wednesday, July 24, 2013
I was just outside doing a little gardening.
Ah, spending a little time in the garden, pottering around in shorts and a t-shirt in a digger's hat, pulling the occasional weed from a well-arranged bed of flowering perennials; maybe picking some mini tomatoes and cukes for dinner.
Sounds bucolic, right?
Phhppppttttt! Not in MY garden. I've got a real man's garden. You want to work in my garden, you need a long-sleeved shirt to ward off the poisonous-haired caterpillars (my arm is still not fully healed from last week's episode). You need long pants to protect your legs from the stinging weeds and ants which seemingly attack from every bush or shadow you brush against like chitinous little ninjas. You need boots or solid shoes to protect you from (and squish!) centipedes with bites that hurt like nothing you've ever felt (another reason for the pants, too). A hat to keep the spiders and ants out of your hair, not to mention the 3-inch cicadas which piss on you as you pass underneath.
And the weeds! I've got a kudzu vine that I've been battling ever since we moved into this place 19 years ago, and the sucker's winning. It's in every tree and bush and trying to climb the drains as well. I didn't garden for 2 months, and I'm paying for it now. Just cut a weed that was 1.5 inches in diameter and about 8 feet tall. In the last 2 weeks I've filled 16 garbage bags, and figure there will be at least another 10, probably more.
Now I know why Japanese shrines always have rock gardens. They say it's for contemplation. I say it's to contemplate the fact that they're too smart to weed every damn day!