My mother often used some pretty colourful language and she is brought to mind today because if she were here, she would ask why I’m walking around like I have a stick up my bum.
I am feeling so many shades of stiff, achey, and blistered from 2 weeks of digging, bending, and raking in my yard. It seems that my low maintenance front yard went into high maintenance this year as 11 plants – ELEVEN!! – failed to survive the past winter.
The tightly compacted earth just wasn’t giving up the root-balls of the dead ornamental grasses without a significant fight. I might have eventually won the battle, but my body is feeling the worst for the effort.
Throughout this struggle, my neighbour across the street – with an immaculate property -has smiled kindly at my struggles and frequently offered advice and encouragement. Over the past 4 years since I retired, he was watched me graduate from complete ineptness to a modicum of budding talent with the green stuff surrounding my house.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind my cat’s life. Theo has been supervising from his new favourite spot for afternoon naps. From his vantage point under the shrubs lining the front of the house, he’s been keeping a territorial eye on his domain while snoozing in the shade.
He did however, make the effort to come out and carefully sniff and rub against every new plant going into ground. It’s hard to tell yet whether he approves of the changes.