|Bray on the patio|
My back yard scares me. The grass (if you can call weeds grass) sprout up within two days of being mowed. My shrubs reach up so high it is hard to tell them from the trees. Even my dogs hate to walk off the deck into the lawn, as I loosely call it. Chloe, my little Chihuahua, disappeared in one area this morning. All I saw was her tail bobbing in the distance. Is it the natural fertilizer with six hounds stepping out to do their business that is the magic ingredient that makes things grow so fast? I head out after the dogs and think, today is the day I'll cut the shrubs back. After I poop scoop, I am too pooped to garden.
The cottage in my mind has a lovely yard, with flower beds and art at every turn. I could have that cottage garden if I could find the energy to deal with it. Some days I still wonder if I should move, find a house that is smaller, one I can maintain better by myself. Those are the days I look around at all that needs to be done on the inside and outside of my house and want to crawl back to bed with a quilt over my head. I love all the changes that are happening here, but I still cheat on my ranch house late in the still of the night. Yet I wake up in the morning happy to be home in my house. Maybe I just need to pace myself better and not look at the entire picture, but each little part that will add up to the wonderful whole I'll call my cottage. Just maybe, I need to go to sleep before 2 am and I'd be more rested! But I am a creature of the night and love to write then.
Today is yard day. The Reverend will be here at lunch. It costs me ninety-five dollars every two weeks in the spring and summer to try and maintain some order on the property. The right-of-way, that gives me the privacy I love, is expensive to keep up. It is a huge yard to mow.
“Please cut the weeds in the back lower to the ground!” I whine every time he shows up.
“No ma'am, the heat will kill the grass if it is too low.” He wipes he brow with a bandana as we talk. He is seventy plus years old and has been taking care of the houses in the neighborhood since he was sixteen. He also preaches on Sunday at a charming little church down the road I have visited on occasion. Yet for all his work, within a few days my yard looks as bad as ever. I am not happy with that!
Reminds me of when I used to have my hair cut at a beauty salon. I paid big bucks only to go home and wash and restyle it. I gave up having someone else do my hair when I was in my thirties. Is it time to do
the same with my yard? At least the back yard. Take control of it myself.
I have to go to Home Depot today to order the tin for my front awnings. Perhaps I'll slip into the garden center. There may be a little lawn mower purchase in my future. I'll get back to you on that. This nightmare has got to end!
My Back Yard This Morning. Last Mowed Three Weeks Ago.
|Can't tell the weeds from the shrubs.|
|A sea of weeds in the yard.|
|I need a blower. All the debris from pollen and rain.|
|View to the basement door.|
|Bertha passing over the hidden pavers. She is the brave yard dog in these conditions.|
|Walkway to the back shed. Can you find it? |