That's the ticket. Keeping busy is definitely one of the best ways to stave off bouts of grief fever, so I thought if I used a lot of pictures I could probably write a column about all the busy things I've been doing.
Remember those huge rhubarb blossoms? (Look in the Archives to see their picture) Combined with pink azaleas, they made the perfect bouquets for Hank's church service. As it turned out, I had to cut the plants right down to the ground anyway, since they would have been trampled otherwise.
As you can see, we are replacing the windows in the guest house. The thermapane had fogged up so badly you couldn't see the magnificent view of Canaan Mountain at all. Cutting down the rhubarb was not a great job for someone with a bad back, so I thought I'd play Tom Sawyer and get all my friends who like rhubarb to do it for me. Didn't work. Naturally everyone who came just took the edible stalks, leaving all the rest for me.
My next big job was talking a
grandson into rototilling the vege-
table garden, and a son-in-law into
raking it. Happily, that wasn't hard,
and then I could get really busy plan-
ning which seeds and seedlings to
put where. There's nothing, at least
to my mind, that's more soothing
than making tidy rows, planting seeds,
setting out seedlings, putting in
stakes for tomatoes, making sure
the peas, planted a month ago,
are climbing up the fence.
My next chore was major. The day I went out to harvest my first asparagus, I didn't notice the raspberry beds next door. It wasn't until about my third harvest that I glanced over and saw that there was far more grass than raspberry bushes in the beds. Last fall neither Hank nor I had gotten around to finishing the job, laying a thick layer of hay in and around each bush as mulch. The old hay from the previous year had turned the beds into a hay field, grass taller than the raspberries and ready to shake their tassels of seeds.
What a mess! And furthermore, the raspberries badly needed watering if they were to produce good berries, and I knew I'd have a terrible time weeding if I watered first. Ah, well, I like to weed. That's a bit like saying I like to eat icecream and being forced to eat six pints at one sitting. Weeding those beds was a three day chore, five wheelbarrow loads piled high. Along with the grass there was a mass of Creeping Charlie smothered in pretty blue flowers. Fortunately that little ground cover was easy to uproot compared to the grass.
I hired a grandson to mulch the beds. At last I could water, and thanks to a timing device Bridget gave me last Christmas, I could do so without worrying about turning off the sprinkler, something that I've always forgotten to do until I realize the pump's going. Out of sight is definitely out of mind.
I still have lots to keep me busy. The bank of flowering shrubs is full of weeds. Some sections of it are doing just what I'd hoped - filling in so the weeds are shaded out - but other areas have filled in with weeds.
And then there are peonies to stake and iris to deadhead and when it rains I have thankyous to write to all the wonderful friends who sent condolances full of memories of Hank. When I finish those I'll try and write a real gardening column.
