It is now quite clear. The garden is reclaiming our house. It started innocently enough with the Virginia creeper crawling up the garage wall without really saying anything. We left it alone knowing the leaves would come down no matter what. It’s burnished gold was pleasing to look at and helped us cope with the chillness of autumn winds. This chillness has now almost become winter but the winds have calmed. In a rebuke to winter I noticed the daffodils are starting to burst through the mulch. The mulch came compliments of a large branch of the Manchurian Pear.
The tree got caught in a tempestuous Willy Willy and it managed to tear off a huge branch. A very large machine was called in which taught the tree a bitter lesson. The branch was fed into this machine which chipped it into a large truckload of mulch. The machine was merciless and you should have heard the screaming protesting wail from the tree branch. All to no avail. I asked the truck to dump the chipped Manchurian tree branch on our parking lot, which it did. This mulch is now feeding the daffodils and jonquils which proves that goodness is often (but not always) eked out of the bad, no matter what.
We had a small shed build in the back yard some 4 years ago after we moved in. Inside this shed are Helvi’s gardening tools including also a bucket full of gardening gloves and several pairs of secateurs. There is a hand mower. The hand mower is lovely to use. It doesn’t have a motor. I could not cope with the noise. The silent rotating blades on this mower is a joy to watch and reminds me of mowers of my youth. There is also a fold-up canvas camping chair. When the sun is out I sometimes sit in that chair, try and soak up a lovely warmth. So does Helvi. We both soak up warmth.
Time passes now with an ever increasing noise of gardening machines and technology. I mean those whipper snippers are really the pits… The autumn has witnessed again the relentless use of those bazooka like leaf blowers. Often people seem to like using those machines. Is it Freudian? I mean they strap them on, march up and down the street, and point hem at the leaves in a revengeful manner. What have those leaves ever done to them? Is it an expression of suffering marital whiplash? Fair enough, but take it out underneath your despairing blankets but not against the innocent leaves or our ears.
We had pasta left over last night. I’ll try and drown it in a mixture of milk, eggs, pepper and salt with lots of formaggio and bake it. That’s it, just wack it into the oven on high heat. The cheese will get brown and crispy. Hoorah!
A bit of peace and quiet goes a long way.