Ground Work
Took a look at my yard and gardens the other day and realized they needed some work. So, I’ve been giving it to them. I’m on my hands and knees pulling weeds and winter grasses. The ones that like to germinate in mulched beds where they manage to get tiny root tendrils into the ground through even the best landscape cloth. They come out of their new homes with a tiny tearing sound. I should do a better job of tending my mulch. If I kept it turned, this wouldn’t happen.
But life intervenes. I’ll finish a new bed and while the bed looks nice and fresh, I tend to let it rest and settle. As almost always happens, I give it too much space. The windblown plants arrive. They thrive. I am now trying to remedy that. But lest it seem as though I’m complaining. I’m not. I like the work. It goes slow, but that’s sort of the point. I target a piece of ground and patiently work the unwanted plants from their new homes. I take breaks. I sit on a chair on the porch. Drink some water. Watch the cats. Watch the wind in the trees. Watch the grounds.
It’s peaceful and there’s no rush. I’ve already finished one bed in the front. I’m now in the back flower bed by my new trellis where the old peach tree used to live. I miss the old tree and it’s peaches and it’s shade. We’ve got a new tree scheduled. It won’t be a peach. But it will take a while before it begins to protect it’s piece of ground with shade. Until then, it’s just me on my knees, digging. That’s okay. It’s good work for an old man. Satisfying. In control. Loving my piece of ground and having it love me back with shade and flowers. Nice deal. We should all be so lucky.