I Hate Gardening!

Today, early in morning, I decided to get some long overdue gardening done. Specifically the removal of yucca bloom stems and young smoke trees growing where they are unwanted; they are a plague and I would not recommend them to anyone but the most dedicated gardener. I had a half filled garden waste bag that is of the type to be picked up by the garbage men for composting and decided to top that one off before starting new ones. It turned out that the stems of the yucca bloom spikes and the smoke trees had gotten too large for the small nippers so I went into the garage and retrieved the larger lobbers. So back to cutting up the heavy stems into small lengths that would fit the bag then using the nippers finishing off the flesher stems, placing both into the partially filled bag from earlier trimmings. The bag was pretty well filled to the recommended height so I decided to return it to the garage to await its transfer to the curb for pick up tomorrow morning. As I lifted the bag suddenly the weight was gone, nothing, no resistance to my arm muscles what-so-ever. A split second later I looked down to see a column of compressed vegetation the shape of the bag sitting there like some weird sculpture and me with the now paper bottomless cylinder still clutched in my hands. Within the next second gravity took over and the column disappeared leaving a pile of an indecipherable green mass of different species of weeds and leaves. The bottom of the bag, the "cul de sac" I suppose, had given way dumping its contents leaving me to relocate it into a new bag.

OK, no need to call upon the wrath of Odin to fall upon all gardens, I just decided, for a change, to apply my favorite "stiff upper lip" British slogan from the War years, "Keep Calm and Carry On". Having finished with my retrieval of the detainees attempting an escape of their paper prison I proceeded to roll the lip of the full second bag in an attempt to close it somewhat. My efforts were met with a sudden ripping sound and upon looking down I saw that the end of a small branch, about the size of the lead pencil, had caused a rip to appear the width of the bag. Why we call them "lead" pencils is somewhat of a mystery as the rod in the middle of its wooden casing is actually graphite. There went my attempt to draw upon my British ancestry of stoicism and in its place language that would have made the roughest East End Londoner bush. In the end, I took a third bag and slipping it, much as if it were a boa constrictor, over the second bag top end in first making it ready for tomorrow's compost pick up.  The surrounding elderly neighbours could heave a sigh of relief and were satisfied that they need not press the last number of 9-1-1 in order to call the proper authorities to deal with some demon possessed psychopath about to go on a rampage through everyone's flower gardens. 

Yes peace and tranquillity reigns supreme once again in our quiet little neighbourhood and the citizens, mind numbingly marking time until the end of their days, can sleep soundly in their beds this evening knowing that no one managed to summon Grendel; though history will argue that a serious attempt was made. 

As for me the rage has turned to the realization that I hate gardening and this afternoon I am going to the hardware store and purchase 50 gallons of the strongest vegetation killer I can find.  Agent Orange, where are you when I need you! Bwahahaha.

Regards

Brian