It’s February, and the winter passes, (though I can remember snow in May) and the rain becomes marginally less constant, I look out at the garden, and I see tasks bud and sprout around it’s edges.
Now I stress that no greenery is directly involved in anything I may do – that aspect of the garden belongs to Chris. Build that wall, dig that hole, move those rocks, paint that, rewire them – these are the Tony jobs, and I have no complaint. I am “big” and heavy things will generally give up if I lean on them enough.
In our two years of occupation we have gradually won our way about half, to two thirds of the length of the long thin desert that came with the house, the remaining section – well I have plans (when do I not?). This requires a certain order to the jobs, like some sliding puzzle, so that A must be prepared to clear the way for B, to allow C to be built…
While I have done some gentle building of raised beds, this has been more a putting off of the real effort, which must begin with a large section of digging. More digging than (this) one man can do in a day. Partly this is because all excavation takes place in the biblical “stony ground” (we get one small cairn to each wheelbarrow of “dirt”). I did start this last year, but once the permafrost of November arrived, it seemed better to wait. All the more so because my one “digging session” (maybe 2 hours?) left me sore and virtually disabled for some days (I did not know I could hurt in some of those places).
Putting this off no longer, spade in hand, I recommenced last weekened, however I was diligent in pacing myself (mostly ’cause Chris was telling me to), and stopped after a short intense session.
I confess, I was quite pleased to wake on Sunday, a little stiff, but not bedbound. Some gentle stretches, and I am good, off to the shops infact (if I could whistle, I would probably have been whistling).
Got fifty yards, tripped over nothing, skipped, lurched, twisted and turned my ankle. Could barely hobble home. Several passers by were holding up scores for technical merit.
Hubris? I’m blaming the digging.
Next week on IaDL: 9 years, how can it be 9 years?
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 