I thought I’d add an addendum to my IBQ prompt post about gardens.
I like to potter around the garden, my phone playing music as loud as it will go, which isn’t really very loud, and generally getting a bit of Sun. I find it soothing after being at work, going shopping etc.
Friday, to celebrate finally getting the lawnmower back and it being the first really decent day this summer, I decided to cut the grass in my garden.
The grass was at least a foot high, you could lose a small child in that grass! We also have a goose grass (sticky bud) infestation on the front jungle as well. With all the rain and relatively warm conditions, every thing is growing like mad, especially the weeds.
My shrubs are looking good though. The hard pruning I gave them early in the year has done them some good.
Anyway, I started with the back garden. Bit of background, until a year or so ago what is now grass was a large pond. It has been filled in, but it’s all a little uneven.
I managed the first yard x four yard section of ground easily but then hit a ridge where the old rock garden, which had been dug out to use the soil to fill the pond, ended. That area was relatively flat. The rest of the grassed part really isn’t. To cut the uneven ground I have to contend with quite a few lumps and bumps. When I hit a lump and can’t get the mower to move forward, I kick the back and then lift. The kick dislodges the mower from the blockage then the lift allows it to move forward. I’ve done it so often the whole process is a mindless routine. I’ve been using the same mower for at least fifteen years, we’ve probably owned it for twenty five. It’s a flymo hover mower, hideously orange, and with no wheels. The hover works quite well on the drive, but it’s a chore on the rough.
So, I’m pottering along kicking and lifting my mower every few steps when I hit a ridge. My coordination decides to take a holiday at this point.
I lifted then kicked.
The only reason I still have my big toe is because I was wearing steel toe capped boots.
It hurt, but not enough that I thought I should stop. Also, no bleeding, so I shrugged it off, thanked the Matronae for giving me enough sense to wear boots when I’m gardening, and carried on.
Wanna see the state of my toe now? I grossed a few people out at work yesterday but at least it’s made some of them think. My supervisor cuts her grass in her slippers sometimes, she told me, it’s shocked her in to not doing that anymore. Another colleague has fake-grass so doesn’t need to cut it; triumphant bitch.
That’s an improvement on yesterday, and on Friday I had to drain some blood off that had started to pool, making my foot swell. I’m avoiding enclosed shoes for a few days too.
And I’m leaving mother to cut the grass.
The lesson, of course, is to wear proper boots when gardening and not to let your mind wander off. Gardens are great places for daydreams, soothing oases in a swarming, screaming, rushing world, an introverts retreat to reclaim sanity and recharge drained energy. But not when handling machines. There’s nothing more likely to unbalance your equilibrium like searching for your big toe in the long grass, except possibly the unexpected arrival of a large number of boisterous children after a day spent at work with emotionally draining people.
Have a good Sunday boys and girls, I’m going to.