It’s not like the yard was entirely neglected for almost a year. Steve worked on it many days, with a few hours of help from me once or twice; but, apparently, this was not enough. Steve told me that he has been neglecting the yard ever since he met me.
Such a bad influence I have been. Today I decided to make amends. I dedicated one hour to helping him pull weeds.
The first photo to the left is a garden framed in Steve’s handcrafted stone, and is one of many like it on the property. Each of them is similarly grown over with weeds taller than the actual planted flowers. The sight of towering weed stalks was a shock to me this morning, as I strolled out the door to begin my work. I realized immediately that this was not going to fun. I’m really into fun now. I like it a lot.
Steve took my picture standing near the patio in an area plagued by gigantic tree-like weeds. These sturdy, nasty-looking growths came out with little effort, compared to the gut-wrenching, two-handed tugging required by most of their blood brothers scattered all around the pool area. Once I finished pulling out the weeds there, I took another photo of the same place, showing the beautiful Lantana bush that was struggling beneath the shade of those monsters.
I worked for 50 minutes. I was starving for food and completely exhausted. Steve, on the other hand, was dancing to the music blaring from his karaoke machine, as he worked tirelessly in the distance. (He thinks he’s a teenager, I guess.) Chelsea, our Bichon Frise, was dancing, too.
I piled all the weeds I pulled into a plastic packing box. I stomped them down several times to get them all inside with the exception of a heap of weeds that rose over the brim. I spent a few minutes snapping photos as I worked.
(I need to help Steve another day, or two, and I probably will. Probably. Will. If… Uh.)
By this time, I should have been cooking, but showering had to be my first priority. Detesting sweat, I thought of nothing else, even though my stomach was growling after expending all that energy.
Steve stopped working when I called him in for a lunch of fried catfish, portobello mushrooms with cheese on top, slices of tomato, cucumber and pear. Life is good.