Now that fleeting Spring has fully ‘sprung’, I’ve been
sentenced to another year of ‘hard time’ in the yard in hopes of prolonging a blooming
bounty of fancy foliage to foster and frequently fawn over. Typically in Mother
Nature’s cruel yet unusual judgment, showy flowers and bursting buds should
quickly wilt, drop-off and take up asylum in the neighbor’s gunk lined gutters
as soon as seasonally possible. So my thankless job, along with millions of
martyred garden minions like me, is to mount mountains of mucho mulch-o in an elephantine
effort to garner the gift of greater growth-time in our gardens.
Yes the unending cycle of nature’s fickle exorcism to ‘wash,
rinse, and rePEAT’ soil from poor soul-less plants with dirtier and crustier barks
than MY OWN has begun. This of course signals a time of ignorance, mulchy indecision,
self-flagellation, and poorly manicured ungues except for my one ‘Hulk-green’
thumb. Between the rain, frost, drought, and neglect, there’s just too much
pressure already to segregate bus loads of mulch varieties around the trees,
lotsa’ hostas, and our habitat of inhumanity.
Anyway I thought we were all supposed to be colorblind now
so why does mulch come in so many flavors and grinds? Even coffee with all its
dedicated legions of fancy corner cafes and mountaintop rarities still shows up
handsomely cup after cup in a similar shade of ‘SAME’ every day. I don’t need a
more colorful life since I’m already black n’ blue from working around this
barnyard; green with envy of those who don’t have to, and my grimy neck and a rosy ‘RED’ have always
been such good friends?
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