Negligence

This summer, we've spent the least amount of time in our backyard than in any other summer.

Because the weather was warmer than usual in the spring, we tended to make dinner at the barbecue and eat under the gazebo. We even invited friends over to join us in our backyard.

But when summer got hot and the rains came, I would only venture into the backyard to mow the lawn or pick vegetables that grew in our garden. I would still grill food on the barbecue but because it was often too hot, we'd dine indoors.

I knew that the space at the side of our house was becoming overgrown. It's an area that I don't mow because there's no grass. There is a strip of dirt and some concrete tiles that separate the dirt from the house, but that's basically it. We don't access the backyard from this side of the house so letting the weeds take over has never really been an issue.

But because we've had so much rain, this summer, this neglected part of our backyard has grown out of control. Creeping vines had taken hold, goldenrod had sprouted up, and we even started growing bushes with thick trunks.

It was becoming a small forest.

Last weekend, we repaired parts of our wooden fence on that side of the house. The cedar boards that we had erected more than 23 years ago were rotting in some spots and we even had some slats that had fallen off, leaving large gaps that looked into our neighbour's backyard.

We replaced all the rotted lumber but had to do all of the repairs from our neighbour's side of the fence because we have a tended garden through much of that side of the yard, and our little forest also prohibited me from setting up a ladder.

I made the decision that enough was enough, and I had to cull the overgrown space. At the very least, I needed to clear the area with the cement tiles, where we wanted separation between the weeds and our house.

I knew that I just couldn't go in wearing a t-shirt and shorts, which is what I often wear when I mow the lawn. Who knew what was living in that space? And one year, when I cleared out that space, I found a tick on a sensitive spot when I showered afterward.

I needed rubber boots. I needed to protect the back of my head and neck from bugs. I needed to protect my face from any flying debris and from the spray of any liquids in the branches and roots.

In essence, I felt I needed a HAZMAT suit.

Not having one, I improvised as best as I could. In retrospect, I should have also worn an N-95 mask.

I snipped. I pulled. I broke up.

I could see an unused rain barrel through the growth before I started work. What I discovered, as I cleared space, was that we also had a disused fire pit and a wheelbarrow.

In just over an hour, I filled four yard bags. And I was hot and exhausted. Also, my lungs were on fire.

That was enough work for the day.

I managed to make a substantial dent in our mini forest. The path is mostly cleared but there is still a bit of work to do to finish it up. But that was as far as I was able to do on a day that I really hadn't planned to do on Labour Day.

This was supposed to be a day to relax, wasn't it?

Flowers and Filters

Wordless Wednesday: Experimental Greenhouses

Photo Friday: Killers of Orchids

For years, my wife would buy potted orchids from Loblaws and proudly display them in our kitchen, or our bathroom, or next to any window that would allow plenty of light to fall on the delicate, white flowers.

We'd appreciate these flowers for months, gazing at the hints of pink and yellow, the three or four flowers balanced on the single stem that stood like an antenna, supported by a stick in the soil. The tongue-like leaves, at the base of the plant, would spill over the top of the pot like panting dogs.

And then the flowers would drop off, leaving just the stem and the leaves. The orchid would look bereft of life, though the plant would survive for years, before we would give up and add the pathetic plant to the compost heap.

Try as my wife might, she has never successfully made an orchid reflower, and it would become a ritual for us to replace the plant every year or two.

Until the last attempt.

My wife never gives up on anything. And so, with the stem bare, she continues to ensure the plant has the right amount of water, careful above all else not to overwater. Just a spritz every week or two. For myself, once a week, when I found myself at the kitchen sink, washing my hands, I would let a few drops drip from my fingertips into the leaves of the bare orchid that sat in the window sill.

After months, we noticed miniature buds on the stem. We tried not to make anything of them, lest we jinx them. After a few more weeks, one of the buds sprouted a slender stem, from which a bulb appeared. Again, we restrained ourselves, and continued doing what we had been doing since we placed the plant in the window.

It flowered. And, as it flowered, we could see more stems and bulbs. Soon, we had two, then three (as I showed for Wordless Wednesday).

We currently have four flowers on the orchid, with a fifth imminent and several more on the way.

All week, I've been photographing the plant, admiring the renewed life. Capturing the moment. And, for my 1,000^th blog post on The Brown Knowser, I thought I'd share it.

Because, with our history, these flowers won't last long.

Happy Friday!