Oh, My Aching Back

 



This morning Durwood suggested that the hummingbird wasn't going to use the new feeder that I bought.  Disappointed I asked if he thought I should get out the old one and he said yes, so I did.  While the nectar I made was cooling, the hummingbird came, sipped at the oriole feeder, and then went to sit in the honeysuckle to give me time to think about the error of changing feeders on her.  I get it, I get it.  Soon enough I had both oriole and hummingbird feeders filled and hung.  Durwood reported that she was very glad to see the old familiar feeder and came back many times while I was busy elsewhere.





Elsewhere was across the yard in the garden where I tired my back out bending over to thread the soaker hose over the bales.  The first try left me with way too much hose so I stood and stared at the problem for a minute and then realized I could thread it through the blueberries and then to the bales.  Following the directions in the book written by the guy who developed this method of gardening I went to Home Depot for some 14-gauge wire to cut into lengths to bend into what look like giant hairpins to fix the hose in place.

Then I got a call from a pair of writer friends passing through on their way up to a week's writing workshop that they were nearly to the spot where we'd arranged to meet for lunch so I had to change into my dress hoodie and go have lunch.

Naturally it started to sprinkle while I was away but I was undeterred.  I changed back into my gardening hoodie, put my raincoat on over it, and went out to get the plants and herbs planted.  Which I did but the hose work, pinning, and planting involved a lot of bending over and my back is tired.  I didn't get the carrot and lettuce seeds planted in those rectangles of soil on the ends of the bales but I'll get that done tomorrow when I'll also get all the flowers planted in pots around the patio so the hummingbird and butterflies come and hang out with us.  BTW, those are the herbs planted in the side and end of the bales closest to the house.  I had the devil of a time forcing my trowel in to make a space for the plants and much of the soil I shoved in to cover the roots seems to have fallen out.  I'll keep my eye on them until they perk up and I can be fairly sure they're going to like growing there.

May 20--Islamic, Fatimid Period, The Game of Stick.  The war waged all afternoon.  The battlefield was littered with bright splotches of broken latex balloons and defuzzed tennis balls.  Most of the combatants had retired to the shade of the maple trees for a freeze pop ceasefire but Will, Alby, and Samuel were still in the fray.  Will wore a large galvanized cone helmet held on with a frayed yellow bungee and he wielded a cracked light saber from his granny's shed.  Alby had on a yellowed pith helmet and an umpire's chest protector.  His weapon was an old fence picket with one end wrapped in duct tape for a handle and a piece of lath stapled on for a guard.  Samuel was bare-headed and bare-chested.  He wielded an old sun-faded Super Soaker he'd filled with a mixture of crushed berries, Evening in Paris cologne, and water.  No one, not even the girls, wanted to be squirted with it.  He was the Rambo of the battle.

Okay.  I hear the antiquated sounds of The Lawrence Welk Show wafting down the hall and Durwood singing along.  It isn't bad music, except when they tried to sing the popular songs in the 70s, that was just sad.  I'm a fan of big band music so I love the old shows when they play that a lot and I have wonderful memories of watching the show with my grandparents.  If I was lucky they'd roll up the rug and dance.  Time to find an Aleve, I think, and some hand lotion.
--Barbara