And Then A Dig….

As Big Shiny put in a surprise showing today we, again, proceeded to the garden for that tidying up game.

“This bush. Cut him down and dig out loots?” my little nest of vipers ventured.
”Loots?  Roots.  Why?”  I enquired, worriedly.
”It be dead.” she said.
I couldn’t dispute this observation but, sensing work ahead as opposed to a sedentary garden potter, I attempted to head her idea off at the pass.
”And? So we – sorry – I exert myself cutting and digging and shaking and, more than likely, damaging my body and then what?  We – sorry – you put in something new which, in time, will also die and we’ll be back where we be this very daytime moment. Looking at a dead bush.”
”So you going to cut him down and dig out loots then.”
”Roots. Suppose so.” Damn!

And that’s how I spent my day, communing with nature. Nature in the form of worms, spiders, wood lice, green fly an’ some stuff I’ve no idea what it my have been. All I can say is they sure had a lot o’ legs.

On the plus side I did manage to damage my body so made an unscheduled blood sacrifice to mother earth. Her indoors assures me that the loss of a finger, only one finger, doesn’t detract from my suave, debonair demeanour.  Actually, she said she didn’t feel nothing.

What type of bush was the bush?  Other than dead I’ve no idea but, to impress you with my garden knowledge, I can categorically state it wasn’t a rose or a daffodil.

Quote;  Doug Larson.

“A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.”