In Which I Till My Garden
|They could barely hold the camera straight, but for the laughing.|
Last week, while planting a gardenia, I stirred up a nest of carpenter ants that pursued me into the house. Kevin slaughtered fifty-four of these winged beasts in the kitchen before begging me to take up a different hobby, one that involves paying off my credit card. Yesterday, while uprooting a giant agapanthus, I managed to hit several tree roots, a water pipe, and possibly the underside of China, while granting passersby insight as to why gardening should never be done in yoga pants.
|Making friends. Lots of them.|
Last night, a man stood around heckling me from the sidewalk for over fifteen minutes as I attempted to heave my shovel under an agapanthus and leap onto the protruding end to create a lever effect that might easily pop the offending plant out of its bed. But of course, this didn’t work to my expectations, in that I didn’t expect to fall and possibly require hip surgery at such a tender age. And the man, either critical of my technique or distended with pity, gave me his business card which read, “Chester Such-and-Such, Holiday Handyman.” Said he lived just up the hill and to call him if things got over my head—which is ridiculous. I mean, that a handyman lives up the hill where the real estate is well above the million-dollar range. There must be an abundance of idiots like me, thrashing about our gardens and botching home improvement ventures, keeping this Chester in rich business.
I am not a complete failure. Though my landscaping techniques involve small amounts of flooding and a lexical restructuring of the term “beauty,” I have managed to increase my fitness by lifting a heavy Fiskar shovel and fleeing emigrate insects. It’s been a highly educational practice. Do you know what the plural of agapanthus is? Tell you what—you don’t need to. By the time I’ve finished my quest, there won’t be a single agapanthus left on earth, never mind a plurality.
In short, I can’t imagine why all of you aren’t eager to join me in these outdoor frolics. Or at least, eager to help.
You are all terrible friends.
|This isn't a success. Success is when someone else is doing the dirty work and you're taking the pictures.|