Thursday, April 23, 2015

This Side of Purgatory

It's that time of year when God becomes the co-landscaper of man's world without human input, and cities for the umpteenth time rattle off weed ordinances left and right alleging the old fossil has it all wrong. They really wish he'd check himself into one of those assisted living community on the other planet in our parallel universe, and just be done with it all.  Like any old codger though, he's still not listening.

The disadvantage of natural diversification within a city where ones yard resembles a visit to a small corner of a national park is that weeds growing at random among the varieties of native perennials, shrubs and trees are not a piece-of-cake target for the lawn mower, unless one wishes to mow down half their garden with them.  The task becomes seek and eradicate, one, by one, by one, and on and on and on.

It is not an easy task for native gardens to escape the scrutiny of city officials and neighbors with cookie cutter yards.  The benefits are many, but we tend to work twice as hard as everyone else to  maintain the expected appearance of neatness. I tend to fudge quite a bit since I'm a great fan of quality me-time.  

Weed Whacker weed whacking is my modus operandi, although I've been known to clip a few of the good guys to the ground in the heat of the moment :(  I've come out of the closet with my Round Up addiction...I love you, my little killer of everything; and Weed B Gon...I've gone nuts over you, my little annihilator.  Pesticide free and a herbicide junkie...Darth Vader would be so proud.

A strip of manicured lawn around it all seems to satisfy passerby's with feelings of maintained control; intermingled with benches, bird bath, feeder, and pathways for that city park effect of disciplined nature we lovingly like to call a wilderness.  

If I lived in the countryside this conversation would be moot...but I don't, so it isn't :(  I live in the suburbs of the city, where grass is king and monocultures are queen and this thing called natural nature is often times viewed as a living hell.

How can anyone look at a dogwood tree and not feel the warmth of a smile within their soul.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

The Weed Pickin' Blues

Door with a View

No Time for Leisure

Past Tense
Came and Went

Present Tense
Front Gate

Perched on the Washer

Litter Pan Nightmare

Reaching for the Stars

Through the Back Garden Gate

Aunt Yvonne and Miss Maple
in Texas

Bittersweet Easter visit with sister and family.
No place to sleep except mom's old bed.
Tried not to think about it too much.
Her glass music box with golden dolphin legs
set quietly on the nightstand.
The one gift I was able to give her that she
really, really, really, really, really
Couldn't bring myself to wind it up
 let the notes of Ave Maria softly play.
I miss her much.

Backyard after the Rains

In the garden again late today until dusk pulling WEEDS.
My life from this day forward until next winter :(
Thunder in the distance rolling across the clouded sky kept me company.
Won the race this day
crossing the finish line just as the first drops began to fall.
I'm happy!

Good Friends
making life wonderful

Three short weeks and Vic once again
flew out of my life across an ocean...
almost a figment of my imagination
when communication is so sparse.
Love you.

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