Haven’t really felt inspired this week, now that the blanket of snow on the lawn is gone and the tufted brown weedy mess is exposed for all to see. I’m a gardener, dammit, and looking out there depresses me no end. The grubs/skunks/voles did their thing last fall. Over the huge septic bed, there is nothing nutritious – just a massive expanse of humpy sand that supports swathes of vegetation that I don’t want to see, but no grass, no matter how much soil I sprinkle down then seed so gently by hand.
Just came back from the Newmarket Home Show and spoke with a lovely woman named Ann, aka Dirt Girl Landscaping. She’s coming by in a couple of weeks for a consultation on the overgrown front and rear gardens and the ‘lawn’. I need her advice on pruning, something I used to rely on my dad to do. If it’s done correctly, perhaps this year we’ll have crops of apples and cherries to harvest (if the birds and *&^%$ squirrels don’t get to them first) She believes in natural remedies, which is a good thing, but I know that we’ll be looking for a guy with a small tractor to move the mega-multiple yards of soil and amendments needed to nurse things back to health.
I’ve accepted my chiropractor’s scolding that I should no longer be heaving around wheelbarrows and bags of manure, because when I do, painful things happen to my body and it gets more difficult to fix me up afterwards. Yes, I’ve reached the stage in my life where it makes more long-term sense to pay someone to do it for me. My consolation – our outdoor rooms will look nice again, and I’ll have more time to write as I oversee the toil of others.
Oh well, it’s Friday night. Got some writing done this week. The sun is over the yard arm (and we can actually see it shine for a change). Time for a beverage.