Yesterday and today I completed my spring pruning, running slightly ahead of the season, but hey, the prunuses around the city are already opening, and the buds are starting to swell on my clematis, roses, and plum. This moment, when everything’s neatly clipped, contained, weeded, still, and bare, fills me with excitement. Soon my garden will be bursting with color and scent, but now it’s like a new haircut on a gloomy day. I climbed my hawthorne to redirect the Cecille Brunner that I’ve allowed to climb up nearly 30 feet over the past few years. Now it forms a canopy that weaves through the hawthorne and out over the wisteria, joining the rose arbor that runs the length of the fence. I need a higher orchard ladder, though, as I seem to have lost some of my Jackie Chan balancing ability and very nearly fell a few times from the top rung, which I know I’m not supposed to be standing on, mom. I impaled myself on a huge thorn, too, not seen directly above my head. Remember the saint who is always seen with the rock stuck in the side of his head? I’ll have a big thorn in mine.
Tales of Post-Twinkie Ennui