Saturday, April 27, 2024

Sprung.

As I noted, and you know if you're in this hemisphere along with most of the population, spring has arrived. And that means hope! Dreams! Young love! And WORK WORK WORK.

Yesterday I was in the giant houseware store, which I'll call Loam Depot because I was buying mulch and rocks. Rocks! When you're a kid you think rocks just happen. They're not something you buy. They're all over. Why spend money on rocks? Why torture the poor suspension (yours and the car's) with a load of rocks? And why buy mulch when you can mow over leaves and make it?

I know, I know. I don't care why. It just is. Spring comes and my un-mulched areas look like crap. As for the rocks, like most people in the 'burbs whose mailbox is on the devil's strip twixt sidewalk and road, I am not content to just let the mailbox post stand in dirt. But I am not so foolish as to think something planted in primo dog zone would survive. Once one dog hits the spot they all want to, and there's no plant alive that can withstand that kind of barrage. Some people cover the ground at the base of the post with bricks or mulch, and some use decorative pebbles, like moi. I use red ones. They match the mulch. 


My dad was a great one for landscaping, and he absolutely 100% did not pass that love down to me. I envy people like him, people who love gardening and tending the lawn and all the other things that make the property look dandy. They get exercise and fresh air and have more to show to the world for the effort than sweaty gym clothes. I like growing individual plants, but nothing more than I can grow in a pot, and that includes grape tomatoes and bell peppers. I cannot stand the idea of turning a large plot of earth, shoving in seeds, then fighting off deer and rabbits and bugs all summer. Unless I can develop a plant that produces Krugerrands, I think I'm just not going to maintain the motivation necessary. 

Today, though, is one of those days I have to buckle down and get some things done. Putting down some tick-murdering poison along the border of the property, for example -- one of the ways we keep the dog tickless. Killing weeds in walkways and other places plants don't belong. Washing the cars -- I feel confident that the big freeze is done, and there's no point in have a vehicle that looks like a pretzel. 



I guess that shows just how close to nature I am, that my spring endeavors are all about cars and poison. Oh, and I got the grill going yesterday, so that's propane for burning meat. I'm a one-man Anti-UN Environmental Programme. And for that, at least, I am proud. 

As I look back on today's blog entry, I realize I've covered this ground in years gone by. And that's what spring is -- covering the same old ground, year after year. With mulch.

4 comments:

  1. Sadly I'm in a condo association for the time being, so no gardening for me. Also, no mowing!

    rbj13

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  2. My Mom loved gardening. We'd have a backyard full of flowers, veggies, etc.
    Trouble was, after a while she decided that the kids should do most of the actual work.
    I hated it.
    Hated it, hated it, hated it.
    Still hate it.
    We have a very nice looking yard, but that's because of Trugreen and Dave, my neighbor from down the street. Bless them both.

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  3. I like good-looking landscapes, but don't have the time or will to put in the work to keep it up. The grass is green and stays mowed, but the plantings are all designed to be low maintenance - hostas and other perennials is where it's at. The backyard where the dogs run...needs some work even beyond the grass. I'll get there some day.

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  4. We are in foothills of Appalachian in WV, so every spring the "lawn" (haha) coughs up another couple of tons of rocks, shale, scree, gravel, rubble, and other detritus.

    Growing up in well-groomed suburbs, I had no idea that this was a thing, that the very earth would heave up a crop of fresh stone every Spring. Something to do with freezing and thawing cycles.

    Our friends who do gardening use raised beds, because tilling the "soil" is like stirring a bucket of dirty gravel.

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