I've spent the past several days, mostly in the coolest morning hours (relatively speaking as our humidity keeps the mid 70s from being altogether enjoyable for hard labor) getting back to some of the most basic grunt work of trying to garden.
Mostly I am a victim (using the term guardedly) of our own success. Allow me to explain.
Dis-Obedient plants revealed that yes indeed they will naturalize nicely at the end of that path. Good luck trying to keep them from stepping out into that path however. The flowers may behave on their stems but their root systems go wherever they see an empty space.
Stepping stones that were needed to get into newly cultivated areas have disappeared into exuberant new growth. Now providing cover for all sorts of ants and ground nesting insects, corners of the stones wink slyly out, reminding me that there used to be a way, as well as a need, to get from here to there.
The remnants of a finally completely dead bush have come out, though not without a fight. At least the top parts of the slowest declining shrub in hedge history have been not so much removed as wrestled out, leaving a maze of woody roots down below that will make replanting an enterprise for the stout of arm, not to mention heart.
But because our dreams of what might be often morph within an all too short space of time into our latest bit of drudgery and upkeep, I want to stop and salute the mass of plants I literally tore out by the roots today. The time just spent sweating, cursing and slapping at mosquitoes was all a sign of success if I will simply see it that way.
There were other years when all we could do was water and hope, squint and try to imagine what a space would look like when the plantings we'd placed there had finally filled in.
Well, fill in they have by golly. Filled in and grown past their bounds. So today was a banner day in its own way, and after the sore muscle meds have kicked in I bet I'll be actively glad about it, too.
Enough tedium and workaday shots of garden chores accomplished. As your reward for hanging in with me thus far, a little bug love.
If the leaves are a rockin', don't come knocking.
Oof is right.
ReplyDeleteAnd 00ff00 is green.
And seven plus seven makes fourteen.
By the sweat of your brow...
Mid-seventies? Is that all? Gardening in Texas at below 80 degrees is for wimps, surely.
I was just thinking this last weekend! "Be careful what you wish for." Oof is right. (That's my back speaking)I will say that the sweat labor makes the skin soft as silk. Just like a spa, well, sort of.
ReplyDeleteSame old problem over here. I spend hours pulling stuff out. Our compost bins are full and a mountainous pile of the excess grows daily. And I keep wishing it would rain, which will just mean more growth. Don't you feel satisfaction after a day of clearing up? I love the fact that the garden made me burn off a few calories. I swear I won't let all this stuff grow again but it always does.
ReplyDeleteJo you are correct - complaining about doing gardening chores in Texas in temperatures under 80 degrees is considered quite wimpy but I find as I get older I don't care. I'll still do the work, don't get me wrong - only now I will do it AND complain about it!
ReplyDeleteLinda: I'll get back to you about the silky skin once the patchwork of bug bites fades a bit more. We are trying out some of the Greenlight granules now and I'll be thrilled if they make gardening less a bloodletting event in these parts.
LRose: I DO feel satisfaction as long as the evidence of my labors remains in clear evidence. The Hub and I both often stand around after some marathon clearing out session and promise ourselves and each other that we won't allow things to get out of control that way EVER AGAIN. Then we laugh (on a good day) because we know that isn't true.