THE TIMEWARP…OUR HOME

We purchased our first home in late October, 2005. Let me re-phrase…our first home without wheels. Since 2001 we’ve owned, towed or lived in one trailer or another. Sometimes two, occasionally that number rose to three. Those were sad times… Regardless, we have been the proud owners of a house without wheels for just over 7 months. The question I have today is this…what did we do with our time prior to owning a house?

Daryl and I both work ‘8’ hours a day, and prior to being home owners our evening were filled with short adventures and excursions, meant to explore this great province of ours. Yes, there were times where we would come home from a particularly rough day, grab a cold beer and spend the rest of the evening feeding the campfire. Those were the joys of living in a trailer. With only 600sf to clear, a small fridge to fill, no possible renovations and no garden.

I am not a gardener, nor do I have a green thumb. But I’ve discovered the void that is my green space and witnessed how it sucks away my evenings, my weekends and even invades my thoughts at work. We were so very fortunate to have purchased a house from a wonderful couple who undeniably loved their garden. It is what many have called ‘a mature garden’. I don’t know what this means. In the fall, I didn’t know if I needed to cut things back, or wait till spring. In the spring, I removed the leaves and mulch that covered the dirt and brown plants and hoped. When nothing happened for a few weeks, I bought a pair of clippers and went nuts. Edward Scissor hand nuts. I had convinced myself that if I cut it and it didn’t grow back to prove me wrong, I didn’t need it in the first place. The plants have proven victorious. Our garden is insane, and I haven’t even fertilized.

My parents came for a 10 day visit and my mother, ever so calmly approached me in the garden as I had my clippers out and suggested that I leave ‘just those ones’. I know enough to know she knows more than I will ever know about a garden. What I thought was a weed invading my herb garden, she gently informed me, were rose bushes. You would have thought that the thorns that caused my bleeding hands would have been a good clue! Not so much.

The front yard has it’s own protector, albeit not so gentle. In our umbrella tree (what I call it, cause I have no idea what it is and copy the people down the street with pruning) has a pair of black birds nesting. I have always been, and will always be, respectful of any living creature raising and protecting its young. I would never think of removing an active nest. These birds don’t know me. These birds think I am out for poached black bird eggs, or blackbird à l’orange! These overly protective have squawked and screamed at me, and today they swooped. I have admitted defeat and will avoid the front yard. Birds one, Armstrong’s zero.