(Not easy being) Green (Pt 1) and Pleasant Land
Mulch, the 2nd assistant undergardener, has strained his nethers again, meaning that I have to take over mowing duties on the Little Lawn. Despite my tender love and attention last year, the lawn had not been mowed since October and the grass had moved past 'rough', through 'meadow' and was ambitiously growing to 'Japanese soldier who does not know the war is over has taken refuge there' proportions.
I started the clean up process and while there were no Oriental warriors, there was a predigious amount of fox shit. The little buggers have gotten too cheeky since hunting was banned and, by the look of it, are on some sort of high-fibre/Mexican food diet.
That done, it was time to cut the thing.
In a fit of environemntalism and thinking I could get some sort of Kyoto discount, I purchased a manual mower a few years ago. I think I had some sort of turn of the century image of myself stripped to the waist, rippling muscles bronzed by outdoor work and tugging on a stone jar of cider. Rosie optional.
The reality is that one sets the mower at maximum height, mows about a foot and then has to clear the blades and roller and do the whole thing again. Wishing I had a scyth and idly wondering if stubble burning worked with longer grass, I continued.
First cut down and after much raking, went to medium cut. this was much the same. lots of grunting and sweating and, frankly, praying for rain.
It did eventually arrive, meaning I did not have the time to do the 'beauty pass'. That's the pass over the lawn that turns it from looking like Morning Hair to regimented rows of grass, doing what it's bloody well told and more importantly, providing a backdrop for croquet and gin, but mostly gin.
The garden is looking great, mostly thanks to the attentions of the Lady of the House, who has a green thumb and dirty fingernails as a result of her digging, potting and pottering. My contribution was picking the breed of daffodil to grow - Winston Churchills. They look amazing and are proof if it were ever needed that one simply cannot go wrong in any situation thinking 'what would Winston do?'
2 Comments:
Some day I hope to have some sort of lawn of my own. I would love to know more about plants in general.
I was extremely embarrassed when Billybob's mother looked at me in slight disgust and/or shock the other day during a stroll in her backyard around the pond. She had been putting in a lot of new plants. I pointed to one and said, "oh that's pretty, what is that?" (This is when she gave the the look)"It's wisteria." Oh...ooops. Isn't that like asking "what's that?" to a rose or a tulip? I felt a little bit stupid.
I'm sure that i could show her around my apartment and she'd say, "what's that?" and I could snootily say "that's concrete" or "those are cigarette butts".
Camera is old, but am at home as opposed to in the office so have opportunity to go picture crazy. Adds a certain something, non?
Anyhoo - top tip from the place where the English language originated that is to floral snobbery as a cruise missile is to a tented target - folk names for plants.
So - 'what's that?' 'Westeria!' 'Ah...old maid's regret as I beloeve it is commonly known as.'
This tactic has saved me on numerous occasions although a word of warning, try to keep track and don't get pissed, otherwise you'll just end up calling everything 'old man's fingers'.
Otherwise, just go sor honesty and bat that snobbery out of the park.
'What's that?'
'Westeria!'
'Really...okay I've already forgotten, I was just trying to be polite and show an interest. Anyhoo, let's see you try and use predictive text on your cell phone you bitch.'
Post a Comment
<< Home