Diggin’ weeds in the hot sun
I fought the weeds and the weeds won [Repeat: x2]
I needed flowers ’cause I had none
I fought the weeds but the weeds won [Repeat: x2]
I left my doggy and it feels so bad
Is she’s having fun?
She’s the best dog that I ever had
I fought the weeds and the weeds won
I fought the weeds and the weeds won
Diggin’ weeds will never be done…Yes, I fought the weeds and the weeds won.
Have been working diligently on my new planting area. I spent 3 hours pulling weeds Saturday afternoon after attending the Stephen F. Austin plant sale. Yesterday, I spent another hour pulling weeds and then 6-1/2 hours spreading organic matter and mulch. (After my old wheelbarrow lost a wheel and the other barrow has a flat, the mulch was carted in one red wagon-load at a time from my driveway.)
Above: Mulched area looking right.
Above: Mulched area looking left.
Above: Looking straight down the middle from the back fence. The remaining weeds are where the path will go and will be smothered by cardboard with a commercial wood mulch on top.
I’m pleased with the result but, in the process, decided the English language needs one succinct word to say, “Too tired to move.” After some thought, I’ve come up with smooped = Slow Moving and Pooped. As in, “I am smooped.”
I played with the drawing made of the planting area on graph paper and filled it in with plants, then yesterday, I re-drew the area with specific measurements, and put the potential plants in place again.
First drawing above.
Second revised drawing above.
I think Piet Oudorf influenced me a bit, which is the reason for the purchase of so many grasses. I love most of Oudolf’s work.
As I played in the dirt, I kept digging up pieces of bricks, iron, bottles, broken glass, a large piece of tin, part of a leather belt, and so forth. It wouldn’t surprise me if there weren’t a car down there somewhere.
Just a few of the items dug up. There were far more.
In an attempt to plant the last of three yarrows (Achillea ‘Terracotta’), I encountered a rock that wouldn’t end. No matter how wide the hole, the rock or concrete (?) went on beyond my shovel. I finally gave up and moved the hole.
I can’t imagine how that rock got there. It’s gotta’ be man-made, and why is it set so deeply in the ground? Of course, my imagination ran wild…
Perhaps Count Jackula is buried in my garden. (Jackula would be Dracula’s third cousin on his American grandmother’s side and great uncle to Donald Trump.) Jackula’s slayer probably put a stake through his heart back in 1933 and covered him with a huge impenetrable-to-weak-women rock.
Anyway, after installing 17 plants, I gave out. I still have 7 more to go plus the 9 that will come by mail and others later. (I didn’t buy too many plants for the area after all. Yaa!)
The moaning and creaking that went on in the garden to stand upright after all that planting was worse than what one might hear in a brothel. My left knee aches. My left shoulder hurts. My neck has a crick, and my right hip is sore. A few good drugs or maybe a cold wine cooler would be good.
Back to the Count: If I could dig him up, I wonder if Jackula would be interested in a job since he’s been out of commission for so long? (I don’t discriminate because of age or choice of beverage.) I could use some help, and Jackula probably wouldn’t realize wages have increased since he’s been underground. For my part, I could certainly point him in the right direction for the blood of a few folks I’m not fond of. (Let me know if you have any you’d like for him to bite.)
Some late breaking news: Elly-Belly-Munchy-Mouth, the !@*$! dog, tore up the container that held my foxglove seedlings so I’ll need to start over with them.
I’ll end this post with a photo of my New Dawn rose that bloomed (first time ever) in the rain on Sunday.–That is to say, she’s a little worse for the wear.