Mars
says that I am more of a writer who happens to garden as opposed to a
plantsman who blogs about his favorite avocation. This summer however I am in definite danger
of spending too much time and energy in the yard, and then not having enough of
either left to pen about it. This is an
effort to maintain my edge.
The
thing is, I really think we that we FINALLY just about have our yard looking the way we want it
– until I look across from whatever flowerbed I have just finished working on,
to whatever bed is in the nearest eyeshot and discover what my work for
tomorrow will be.
My
most recent obsession is the grass that grows along the edge of some of those
perennial patches. I have come to like
to see a subtle delineation between the two areas – definitely not a rubber
garden edging look – more like an
unspoken agreement between the fescue and whatever plant (hosta for example) with
which it is contiguous to allow each to quietly lean into their respective
spaces without ever actually touching the other. The borders that are easiest to maintain are by
their nature the ones that least satisfy my (perhaps odd to some) adjacency
aesthetic. In two of the three plots on
which we spread mulch, the decaying bark forms the outer edge allowing me to
mow right up to it without disturbing any of its living inhabitants.
The
other mulched bed, as well as our two full-to-the-gunwales gardens within which
the ground is not visible, and the area that forms the southern border of our
property however all have the potential to satisfy my quest for that faux
natural look – with a lot of work.
The
principle problem is the nature of the grass.
While all of the thin green leaves of turf in the inner part of my lawn
willingly offer themselves up to the churning blades of my Toro “Self-Pace’
mower and/or my rechargeable (but not for quite long enough) string-trimmer – the
blades that choose to grow on the periphery seem to literally be “blades”, as
in sabre or epee (for you crossword puzzle people) – sturdy, battle-hardened,
weapons all firmly fastened to the earth on which they stand with the tenacity
of Bernie Sanders.
They
only yield to hand-to-hand combat – which I am now committed to on at least a
weekly basis.
I
do allow myself one weapon – my hand grass clipper. You know that thing that looks like a pair of
oversized scissors that got caught in a doorway and twisted into
uselessness. This was, as I recall, the
first gardening tool that I ever used – not this particular one of course but,
as you will see, one of its older ancestors – although pretty much identical in
terms of technology.
As
an elementary school kid, while my father and mother were at work and I was not
in school, I sometimes spent time with Aunt E.
She was a stay-at-home wife with no children; a homeowner (my parents
always rented hence my almost total lack of gardening heritage); and someone
who spent basically everyday of the growing season doing some form of yard or
vegetable garden activity. And when I was there, I was “volunteered” to
help. My job was edging – probably
because the job required no skill, knowledge or experience, and I was closer to
the ground than she was. In the world
prior to string trimmers (aka “weed wackers”), the low-tech, hand operated
grass clipper was the preferred (and possibly only) device available for
cutting such grass that was to close to objects, or on a steep or irregular
terrain.
At
an age when all such adult activities were totally boring, this activity was
particularly mind numbing to me. My only
recollections are of tiny sticks frustratingly wedging themselves between the
long bypass blades; an ever-growing, endless amount of lawn to trim; and my
right hand rapidly becoming cramped and tired – the latter probably a
combination of child-sized hands and my child-sized lethargy.
Nowadays
the twigs continue to jam, and the workload is just as endless – but my hands
are bigger now, the yard is my own – and I willingly choose to do the work.
Plus
I have finally learned to linger a while at the end of my toils, and appreciate
the tiny (albeit impermanent) piece of landscape art that I have created –
before scanning the area for my next horticultural challenge.
