Carl Orff had his finger on it.
I’ve been meaning to get some Spring pictures up for a while but foolish things keep interrupting like work and sleeping and, well, working in the yard and then sleeping in the sun. Here’s the front yard the day the iris finally started blooming.
The burgundy and peach ones in the back yard are yet to come and the baby Dutch are just starting to open.
Here’s the herb bed I dug last fall (nearly knackered my bad leg) with basil, winter savory, oregano, more basil, opal basil, and parsley getting settled in it.
I was dead cert this clematis had gone tits-up over the winter but no, before I even looked for it, it exploded.
And David, the Diva Gardener, has returned. After four months of sulky silence occasioned by my refusal to let him start sawing and nailing at some incipient wood-rot on my back sun porch — the cats love that porch, and David could fuck up a soup sandwich, so it’s not worth the risk — he sloped back into the yard in April as if nothing had ever happened and planted some radishes. I stumbled across the tillage rather unexpectedly; it looked as if someone had crept into my yard and interred a leprechaun. Eventually I crossed his path and decided not to allude to the past autumn’s drama, which had included among other things me standing naked in my dining room fifteen minutes before a client was due, hanging up on him in the middle of a list of references. He has onions, coriander, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and beans working out there now.
I had offered him, in lieu of the coveted wood rot job, a half day’s work taking out a dead arbor vitae along the back fence. I never got an answer from him out of that, but last week he asked “What ya gonna do about that dead tree?” (No printed word can give a hint of his cornpone accent, which sounds like Gomer Pyle fucked George Wallace and sent the baby to grow up in the swamp.) I am damned if he is getting the job after all that. I pinched the bottom half of the tree to death with loppers, called the county to pick up the brush, and told the Cute Engineer I had a job for his cordless chainsaw.
I don’t know when he’ll get around to it. I may be putting Christmas balls up on that dead tree, but principle is principle.
PS: Anyone have any idea why the fuck I can’t get even my own videos to embed on fucking WordPress any more? Did I miss something? Was I in the bathroom?