We're surrounded by woods here and hunters abound. I don't need to catch a stray bullet since I already have enough health problems, ha. I believe black powder season is possibly still open, but I'm not as leery of those hunters. They have to take a much more careful aim since they only get one shot at a time. I'm counting on them not seeing me as a target.
Even though we've had a reprieve with our warm fall weather, I'm still behind on cleaning up the garden. Of course, it didn't help matters any when I decided to alternately coerce, coax and cajole Carl into remodeling the Pachyberm which we were working on right up until the septic construction a few weeks ago.
|Carl moving a rock into place in October|
Last week gun deer season was in full swing, and I couldn't find my blaze orange jackets anywhere. (Turned out they were in Joel's trunk, in case you were wondering. We'd gone cross-country skiing last winter on a recreational trail during hunting season.)
Last week Tuesday my sore back started to loosen up some, but not enough to make bending over comfortable since I was still wearing my back brace. I had a bunch of ornmental grasses that needed taking down and one last hosta bed to tackle.
Gauging my creaky back situation, I asked Carl to help me start my Stihl weed whacker. Normally I don't use the trimmer to remove hosta foliage. My main reason for such avoidance of technology is the metal name tags I have on each plant, or, well, used to have. Many of my hostas are now anonymous due to their 'Hi My Name Is' badges being flung ten feet away by a weirdo wielding a whacker. (Meaning me.)
Carl was a bit hesitant to arm me with my power tool since I was just starting to walk better, but I assured him I'd go slow and take it easy. Heck, I won't do all that much. Just a few things. Carl looked at me and shrugged, yeah, right, just a few things, sure... He knows me too well.
It was quite cold out that day, and damp, so I donned long underwear. Since I couldn't find my blaze orange at the time and there were hunters all over the place, I decided to top my heavy winter jacket with my lightweight red hooded sweatshirt so I'd be seen by any stalking hunters. I know, as if deer make as much racket as I do, but hey, safety first. (The weed whacker sounds exactly like a chainsaw, in other words, loud.)
Unbeknownst to me, I had someone stalking me with a camera. (I thought Carl had left since he had an appointment.)
Wait, that's not a hosta bed, that's 'Annabelle' hydrangea. Oh, well, the stalks are down now.
Ok, let's see what else I can destroy around the joint:
|No, you cannot weed whack the Mugho pine even though it has a case of scale at the moment.|
I did give the idea some serious thought though.
Ooops, my 'deer in the headlights' look, heh, heh, didn't see you there, Carl...never mind, I'll leave the tree alone.
In the end, I whacked down the 'Karl Foerster' grasses in the Formal garden, a bunch of sedums and assorted miscanthus by the Escarpment, and way more hostas than I intended to. I was all over the yard with my weapon of destruction. I don't regret it even though I had to go back and do a lot of raking, at least things are moving along a little faster. But yes, I did make a mess.
Wasn't I the one who complained about the hens making a mess in the garden? Hmmm....classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Sorry Girls, you're forgiven.
The temperatures still seem to be hovering near or around forty-something for a few more days, so with any luck I'll get some more stuff done outside yet.
Work is good for what ails you.