Digging it

So, yesterday, in between running errands for and with Mike and before the thunderstorm started, I manage to put in a couple of hours digging the weeds out of what once had been the bed for my rose bushes and lilac tree.


Even with the weeds gone, it’s difficult to spot the one struggling to survive rose (hence the helpful box frame around it).

Although I have yet to decide what I am going to plant to replace the dead rhododendron which once marked the grave of my cats, crazy Clancy and lovely Jenny, I figure I might as well de-weed it, too.


I can’t believe how many rocks I have to dig up. I remember from past experience that some of the ground is quite rocky, but this far exceeds my recollection. Mention this to Mike when I go inside later. Of course, there are a lot of rocks, says the man who actually dug the grave in my absence. He’d put them there to stop other animals digging up the grave. Well, duh, why didn’t I think of that? A rock garden is certainly a possibility, though I now have my eye on a tri-coloured rose tree which the internet gardening centre claims deer don’t like.

Today I decide I really should do something about the pine cones scattered all over the garden. Assuming I ever track down Billy, the failure to appear rototill guy (unfortunately Pat’s lost his number and can’t remember his last name), rototilling pine cones into the ground is not a good idea. It’s hard enough to keep a lid on proliferating pine trees without accelerating the process of germination for them. Not that I particularly want to halt the proliferation of pine trees on the property - I just don't want them in the middle of the garden. Call me old fashioned, but the only trees I want growing in what little garden space I have need to bear some fruit in return for their squatting rights.


Full marks (but no prize) to anyone who can guess how many pine cones I plucked off the ground.

I’m sure there are still a large number lurking out there, but it’s hard to tell. The bloody weeds need whacking again (bastards) and I still don’t have a working weed whacker. You’d think, after all the trouble I went through to whack them in the first place, the weeds would show some respect and slow down a little, but, oh, no, they’re very naughty and want whacking again.

I can’t face going back to borrow Sally and Jamie’s weed whacker (although somehow constantly borrowing every other garden implement from Pat doesn’t bother me). There really is nothing for it: I’m going to have to make a trip to Nanaimo, which is never an appealing proposition. I’m with Bob Bossin: It’s so nice not to be in Nanaimo. (Wish I could find a full version of this most excellent and very funny – if you live on Gabriola – song, but all I could manage manage is the sample. Still, wouldn’t want to infringe on Bob’s copyright.)

However, Nanaimo can wait a couple of days. Tomorrow I am going to one of the garden shops and I am going to buy some herbs. If I don’t get something edible growing in this garden soon, my head is going to explode. I may go mad and buy some flowers, too, just to get some colour out there.

PS: The answer to the pine cone question is 435.