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Sunday, March 18, 2007

The Gulag Garden

The only creatures known to make as much kafuffle as I do following an accomplishment are hens. There are many who claim that I make far more noise than any Leghorn egg layer but I say such people are only envious of my accomplishments (as well as being annoyingly truthful). Recently I decided to renovate the backyard, so I begin to garden in earnest. After all, I am physically capable of doing so - or so I tell myself - and if I do so there ought be a great deal of satisfaction and far less $ spent) if I provide the labor. I've spent hours and hours daydreaming of what I can accomplish in the 'back forty' - taking into consideration that I haven't got a mule.

My first big project is putting in a brick border around the area I enjoy calling 'flower bed' – it's actually a weed bed. A second project is renovating the Hawthorn Island, an crabgrass encased oasis on the backyard lawn that holds my berry bearing, Cedar Waxwing delight - my Hawthorn tree. The Hawthorn island harbors the rampaging, brown shirted, hobnail booted German Iris I’ve fussed about a week ago (see horrid iris HERE). Ugh! The iris bed is a nasty, gnarly mess of crab grass, slugs, snails, iris rhizomes and a million privet seedlings that grow from seed to humongous shrub in a matter of days. I am determined that all the weeds and unwieldy plants in the Hawthorn Island are - to use street lingo - 'going down fothermucker!' (I got that bit wrong, didn't I?). There are many other things in the back forty to be done too, such as removing and replacing numerous garden casualties such as my dearly de-budded blue butterfly bush; may it R.I.C. (rest in compost).

Over the weekend I stunned myself by actually bricking a wee corner of the future flower bed. Later, tiring of stoop labor I then stained and water treated several redwood pots and such (several = 2). See? I told you – if I do the work, this blog is damned well going to showcase every drop of sweat on my brow. Harumph, and same to you buddy.

I am determined to garden so please, don't try and stop me. I must do this for myself.

Please; won't someone, for pity's sake, please stop me?

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