The nerve of some people.
We can't all be handy. Some of us have to be lower on the Handy Person Bell Curve than others. And I, I bear my inability to build sturdy things like arbors and trellises (or is that trelli?) like a true Jane Austen heroine. My creations may not endure, but I am stoic. Philosophical, even.
Well, until things blow down. Or break. Then I resort to less noble behaviours.
Not that I'm going to get into that here.
Anyhow, all this posturing and crouching and leaning to exclude the less than aesthetic visions opposite reminded me of the time an acquaintance came to visit. She must have seen this blog at some point, because the first thing she said to me was "Uh, this is your garden? The same one I saw pictures of?" I wish I had Sound-O-Vision for this remark, because it was garlanded, nay, festooned with surprise. There was disbelief. A touch of shock. And a smidgen of confusion. She obviously thought she had the wrong place.
But really, does anyone thing I'm going to show pictures like this?
My messy hoses? The newly shorn nectarine, sitting nakedly against the wall? My grubby potting bench, built from scrap wood in California and dragged all the way up here to BC because I had a sentimental attachment to it? Oh boy, reading that makes me realize what a dingbat I am (note to self: don't mention how you brought your compost over on the ferry when you moved here).
I'd like to say I'm an amazingly gifted photographer, but then that would bring us back to my yard not really looking like this, wouldn't it? So let's just say that I am a selective photographer. Why show views of
Here's another shot. Richard says that I live in a little world of make-believe and sometimes I have to agree with him. This is way better than what you aren't seeing: cars parked on the road and more stucco boxes.
(sheila waves her smelling salts under everyone's nose)
There, there, this is so much better, now, isn't it?