2002-08-08 - 9:00 p.m.
If it weren't for crab grass we'd have no grass at all....
These words were going through my mind this morning as I surveyed our little plot of land. At least I have the makings of a good country western song.
This morning I awoke with an unfamiliar feeling, and it took a minute to recognize it. I am... UNHOT.....I mean....comfortable. A relatively temperate day in August, (before the big onslaught at work next week,) calls for: a Yard Work Day. One of the advantages of working for the institution for a hundred years is that I do have a lot of vacation days and relative freedom to use them, so after a couple of quick phone calls, I was preparing to do battle with the forces of nature-nature instead of human nature. And a formidable battle it was likely to be. I am embarrassed to admit that I have not done any yard maintenance since we returned from vacation, and it was getting scary out there. Scootie rescued a smattering of my gardening self-esteem by telling me that her boss, who is a world-class gardener (featured in magazines, etc.), admitted even SHE let things go during August. But, the time has come for action.
I carefully annointed myself in sunscreen and two kinds of insect repellant. Because the mosquitos in our yard have displayed an uncanny aptitude for finding any square inch of skin that is overlooked: right next to the watch, or behind the knee. Even when the repellant is holding them at bay, you can see them hovering around, just waiting for you to spash a bit of water on your leg or wipe the sweat from your neck. That's when they zoom in for a snack. I've taken to carrying a bottle of repellant in my pocket, but I was really kind of wishing it came with a holster...
And then I went to the Dangerous Chemicals cabinet in the basement and got out the weed killer and insect killer and other fun stuff. (Aside: Whenever I get into this cabinet, I think of my nephew who, at age three, when he was asked what he wanted for his birthday, said: "Dangerous Chemicals." His mother had told him to stay out of the cabinet where they kept the cleaning products, saying there were 'dangerous chemicals" in there, and he apparently decided that must be something grown-up and exciting.) The grass had grown so tall in front the garden shed that the doors wouldn't open without some cursewords. Well, I guess I have to start somewhere....
I even made the dog go out with me. He gave me this indignant look, as if to say, "What? I've already been outside. This is my nap-on-the-couch time." But I said, "Hey, if I have to slave out here making a nice place for you to lay your dainty little turds, you can at least come out and get hot with me." Not that this bit of reasoning made a bit of difference, of course. What really worked was ushering him out and closing the door. He continued to follow me around and stare at me balefully all morning, to make sure I knew he wasn't having any fun.
Well, that makes two of us.
The idea of gardening appeals to me but the realities always elude me. Such as figuring out what to plant and how to keep it alive. Such as being consistent on the upkeep, and winning the war on weeds. Weeds are my nemesis, but also an enemy that fascinates me. I know they have incredible methods of self-propagation, and that pulling or hoeing them can just cause them to multiply. Sometimes I feel like we came too late to the battle on this particular piece of ground.
It was once an amazing Japanese garden (or so we have been told) and some of the deteriorating remnants were there when we bought the house, six years ago. The bamboo water pipes were rotting and a small koi pond was so overgrown that I discovered it by stepping into it. The one thing still remaining is the large pergola, which we always refer to as the "pagoda" because that is what it looks like. The former owner of the house had been quite a lover of all things oriental, and had decorated the house (a circa 1907 Arts and Crafts) as well as the gardens in oriental style. It was this very obsession that was his undoing:he was one of the first Americans to travel to China when it opened up to western visitors, and while on this trip he ate something tainted and died of food poisoning. So the house fell into the hands of some other men who turned it into a party palace and den of iniquity (this is not, of course, proveable, but it was three years before we stopped getting knocks at the door at weird hours by trembling people desperately seeking Raymond....) One thing I know they didn't do, for about eight years, was yard work. The weeds towered over my head (that would be five-foot-four) and the first year all we could do was chop it all down and try to level it out and think about starting over.
This was when we discovered the scariest plant: bamboo. Once a part of the oriental garden, it had grown wild for years. At first I didn't think much about it. Then I was cleaning out the basement and made a creepy discovery. Something had grown through the foundation of the house and worked its way through a sheet of foam core, burrowing between the foam and paper along the whole length of the sheet. It wasn't until we were clearing out space for a new fence that we realized it was bamboo. This stuff was growing through wood and solid rock, so I was determined to rip it up before it did any more damage to the house. The roots of bamboo grow just a few inches beneath the surface of the soil and run in every direction, in a vast matrix. For two summers, I ripped bamboo out of the ground. The roots are tough and light and tended to snap up suddenly like coiled steel tape, flinging dirt in my face. I became obsessed with it, almost as if I were battling some sinister force. Skootie said she could tell just by the wild look in my eyes when I had found some more bamboo. Finally I won. The bamboo has been eradicated and the yard is safe for democracy.
The real problem is that I don't want democracy. I want to be the absolute ruler, the Czar of the Yard. And this comes only at the price of constant vigilance, for I am still outnumbered by all manner of invaders: Bindweed, Crab Grass, Creeping Charley, Poison Ivy, Dandelions, and the dreaded Spurge. (I can only blame myself for this.... my own softness when I should have been resolute. You see, when it first appeared, spread out so small and round and flat, I thought it was kind of CUTE and I let it stay there and grow. Little did I know I was falling for a clever plot to take over my patio.)
So tonight, my back is tired, and the back forty (that would be feet, not acres) looks fairly civilized again. That crabgrass looks amazingly presentable when it's mowed.
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