Dream house, dream life, yeah right. Dream on…

Posts tagged ‘weeding’

The Unexpected Guest

Ever notice how plans change when unexpected guests turn up for the day?

Yesterday, I decided to make a start  weeding the garden of horror in the back while it was in the shade (disgustingly early in the morning this time of year). I even soaked it the night before.
Up early, into garden gear, look out the window to check the sun hadn’t reached it yet and a surprise guest who wasn’t there 20 minutes before had arrived.

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“My garden (this is the only green grass for miles), back off!”

So, obediently *I* weeded the up the side garden instead. Wouldn’t want to upset a visitor.

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 (Short floral interlude here from above the pond because believe me you don’t want to see the side garden. I should have just hired a hay baler)

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 “Yes, I’m still here, so stop sneaking up to check through the bushes.”

A couple of hours later I look out the window and the sun drenched garden appears wallaby free so I pick up the load of washing and head out the door…

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“Yes, of course I’m standing on the other side of the garden! You scared me half to death coming around the corner like that. I was having a nice relaxing nap under the wisteria and then you come barreling down the path and nearly step on me. I could have had a heart attack!….. What do you mean I should go further down the garden? You’re going to hang flapping sheets on the line and you’re saying I’ll freak out? You’re the freaky one, you’re the one standing there talking to a wild animal.”

(Just to prove I’m not making this up)

So, about 30 minutes later I look out the window and guess who has moved back to his favourite tree for a sleep?

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(Wildly flapping washing be damned, there’s green grass here!)

At one point I went down to untangle a sheet and we both got a scare
because he’d moved to the edge of the garden nearest the line and neither of us saw the other until I rounded the tree a metre from him.
Less than an hour later and he was snoozing under ‘his’ dogwood again.

Hours pass, clouds gather and I check his position. No sign of him.

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I even walk down the long way so I can see if he’s up near the wisteria – nope. So I’m standing at the line, thinking I’ll put the hose on again after I get the sheets in so I can pull the weeds tomorrow when one of the said weeds moves rather strangely, almost like it’s being pulled from below.

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I thought I told you before, these are my weeds and you need to accept this and back off, crazy human.”

 You’d be more convincing if you didn’t look like you’re inhaling poppy seed, you addict…

Dusk begins to fall, and he wanders across the yard for dessert. (Ever had a guest who comes in and then raids your pantry and eats all the best stuff?)

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He finally departed around 9ish, leaving me plenty of manure for the garden. (Seriously, I live in the suburbs, 7 km from the city centre next to a highway.

Why am I feeding the overseas misconception that we have roos jumping down our main streets? Because apparently when we have the hottest, driest Summer on record, it becomes true.

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