Friday, April 01, 2005

The Political Commentary You've All Been Waiting For


Since the planets aligned and I happened to have off on a beautiful, warm day, I decided to try to plant a hydrangea yesterday.

I had a general idea of where I wanted to put it but, once I scoped out the area, I realized, as with all things in life, I would have to dig out a thorn bush first.

I've done this type of thing before. It's never pretty.

Armed with a lobster and an axe, I defiantly approached the bush. Ok, really I had loppers and a hatchet. However, I am so experienced at this particular battle that it wasn't going to go any easier with my weapons of destruction than if I did have a guitar and crustacean as my only tools of removal.

I took to the bush like a woman possessed. Chopping. Slashing. Slashing. Chopping.

***Let me just pause here a moment to say that if you are ever of the mind to remove a bush, and in the process you notice it has yellow roots, you may as well pack you bags and move because it would be easier.***

Back to our post.

Chopping. Slashing. Cursing. Kicking. Throwing. Hurting. Kneeling. Weeping. Sobbing.

The bush is gone.

I am a broken woman. My back aches. My hip joints feel like they could use a little WD-40. My neck is stiff and showing the first signs of a killer migrain. My feet are covered in blisters. My hands are puffy and red, pierced by thorns, many of which have yet to be removed.

But the bush is gone.

So, you might ask "Well, what about the hydrangea? I just won't be able to sleep tonight unless I hear the whole story!"

The rest of the story goes like this...

With the evil yellow-rooted bush now departed, I began to dig the hole for the new, kinder bush. I tried to loosen the dirt with the pitchfork. It was going along fine until I hit a solid patch with a "ding" that sent a pain up my arms so strong it made my chiropractor smile.

A rock.

There was no way around it. It too would have to come out.

After another oh, say fifteen hours of digging, I was able to get the edge of the fork under it and pry it to the surface. When I did, it flipped over and revealed itself as a big blob of broken bricks, concrete and brown glass.

What the hell is up with that?

I can only guess that these are the leftovers of the bricks, mortar and beer that were necessary to build the pump house. The rest of the loose bricks and broken bottles were underneath.

As luck would have it, I had run out of time and had to pick up my son from track practice.

The hydrangea makes a lovely centerpiece on our dining room table.

So what, my dear readers, is the moral of the story?

It is simply this: Thorny, evil Bushes are yellow-rooted cowards that mess up your sunny day and even after you manage to get rid of them - even if it takes 8 years! - things are going to still be screwed up.


D.B. Echo said...

This is why my gardening tools include a crowbar and an eight-foot-long iron prybar. Plus some handy bricks to use as fulcrums.

I've acually come to appreciate large stones as "instant holes", where you can avoid the tedious effort of digging down an additional foot or so by simply popping out an enormous boulder twice the size of your head that's located about 12 inches below the surface. And now you don't have to worry about what to do with all the dirt that's being displaced by the transplant's root ball! What to do with the boulder is another question.

D.B. Echo said...

And I completely skipped over your last paragraph. So my comments about crowbars, eight-foot-long iron prybars, bricks used as fulcrums, and big holes are likely to earn me a visit from the Secret Service. Oh, well.

anne said...

Hee, hee! I'm sure we're both on Big Brother's watch list...

You're right, though. I should have just gone right for the prybar. You think I would know better considering I did the large part of my "gardening" last year with a chain and pick-up truck.