Friday, August 19, 2011
If there's one thing the wife absolutely loves, its got to be the way the yard is littered with half finished projects. Its not just because it gives it an abstract, new age feel, or because the ironing got done. I figure it could have something to do with my euphemistic interpretation of the way her face contorts when I suggest starting another something new. But no matter how much it makes her happy, every now and then it really starts to bother me, and so sooner or later I get around to starting an end to a project.
timber retaining wall, and how long some of these gaping holes have been waiting to be filled.
So to start, I had to do something that would distract the wife from the certain distress that would come from completing something that was unfinished. Its a few boards of stained decking timber, so you could say its my back deck, but in truth, its supposed to more closely resemble the function of a seat. What's better, the gaping hole is only covered, not filled, and the seat is removable - so aside from me being able to keep it out of the weather, I can return to the gaping-hole look whenever I want!
She was so delighted with the result, there wasn't even a hint of a complaint.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Anyone over the age of four will tell you that you can't use grass in a salad. And since I am reminded daily that we're currently growing a couple of under-four-year-olds, I thought it an opportune time to reclaim a bit more of the lawn before those few extra sets of eyes join the wife, watching suspiciously whenever I disappear into the yard with a mattock. In any case, I'm going to be leaving at least some lawn, mostly just to cover ourselves in case said under-four-year-olds won't eat anything else green.
I was lucky enough to have both company and experience in the yard with me yesterday - a good mate of mine who has more experience with a mattock than Thor had with a hammer back when the Norsemen started to worship him. I'm sure the Vikings would have given this guy some cool name like Rognvald, and shouted it loud when they did their team gardening. We're talking about a man that regularly removes large expanses of lawn in forty degree heat, if there's anything more bad-ass than that.
Aside from the usual bribery in the form of ice cream, chocolate or ironing board slavery, approval for this project is won by the acceptance of shape and form as marked out by a garden hose. The wife looked reasonably happy with the proposal, and in my book, a yes is a yes, even if it is said with folded arms and an unconvinced tone. With two mattocks smiting the lawn, a lasting and irreversible impression is quickly made.
Then in a final attempt to ensure at least one of us would need to build a lasting relationship with a physiotherapist, Rognvald and I began moving large chunks of bush rock I'd acquired from some random's front yard. I assure you though it was totally legit - through a service I can't speak highly enough about (Freecycle). After arranging them suitably in place, the dropping sun was subtly telling me the same thing my lower back was shouting directly into the pain centres of my brain: Its time to throw back a few of Bundaberg's finest.
And with the setting sun, mattocks by the door, and dirt strewn across the back room, so closes the opening chapter in a new epic.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
More often that not, its dark when I leave the house over the colder months. When I arrive home its darker. Some nights I still go out to see the plot, when the need is most great. But I'm almost never there in the mornings. It's hard enough getting out of bed, let alone venturing that one step colder. For me, the coming of Winter marks the time where the otherwise steady, stable relationship I have with my garden disintegrates into a series of intermittent weekend flings and one-night stands. Thus, the most used pages of my little black book at this time of year are full of self-confident, independent and motivated types who are mutually agreeable with these kinds of on-again-off-again arrangements. I'd like to think we've become quite comfortable with one another over the years.
At the risk of loosing my title as a lazy gardener, I'm now going to carefully use the term succession a number of times more - hopefully not to the shock and disappointment of you, my dear readers. My bush beans grew so well through the June, I was even game enough to plant a succession crop of those right in winter's heart - which are coming along surprisingly well. Up to a kilo a week has been collected in short sprints between the patch and my climate controlled abode.
So maybe I have to admit I did in some ways become a little more committed to the Winter Garden this year.
But only a little.