I find that it’s futile trying to persuade Attila to thrash the ground elder, unless I can convince him that it’s wearing Chelsea strip. Getting him to remove grass from borders or dandelions from the lawn is an easier job. In the same way that intelligent men never learn to operate washing machines or vacuum cleaners, your partner may find it impossible to tell the difference between groundsel and a tree peony. He may reason that he has to destroy only a few treasures before you leave him in peace in a deckchair. Insist that he replaces all of the good stuff that he obliterates and indeed, accompanies you to the nursery while you agonise over the many choices available.
Epiphyllum “Omeinishiki” (orchid cactus)
Make use of his muscles and give him a manly job like cropping dead tree branches or moving heavy containers. Don’t task him with lawn care unless you want to return to the garage in an hour, to find that he’s stripped the mower down to nuts and bolts, because he thought that he heard a rattle. I asked my husband to remove a huge clump of Carex which had seeded itself beside the pond. After prevaricating for a week or so, he rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in. He dug out the vast ball of grass, only to find that more had spread into the marginal plantings. He dragged these out of the water, on to the path. The mess was incredible and the smell was worse. I checked that work was underway and went around to the front in haste, to plant annuals in pots.
Papaver paeoniflorum “Black Beauty” (peony flowered poppy)
When instructions were necessary, Attila made his way over to ask me what I wanted. I could tell that his appearance was imminent, as the odiferous nature of the aquatic medium advertised his presence before his voice did. I pointed out that I wanted to keep the Libertia grandiflora which had become enmeshed in the brutal mass of weed. The leaves of the pretty perennial were exactly the same as the sedge but with a tinge of blue. I recommended using two garden forks to prise the roots apart and that he hurry, since I found his proximity and thus the reek of rotting vegetation most unpleasant.
Acer shirasawanum “Aureum” (golden full moon maple)
Between us we had accumulated too much tough stuff to cram in the bin, so I hitched up the trailer, to take it to the tip for recycling. When we were fully laden with a quivering pile of green waste, including the stinking festering gunge from the pond, he dropped his key in amongst it. The only back door key that we possess. We emptied all of the scrot onto the drive, until we found the vital object, right at the bottom. I left my observations unspoken, you might have said that I was tight lipped. He helped me to unload at the refuse depot, without comment or complaint. We returned home in shattered silence and he retreated to the bathroom, whence he showered until the hot water was exhausted. Thereafter he retired to televised football coverage, where I left him to the roar of the crowd and the burble of the commentators. I would call that a fair result.
Entertaining as usual. I look forward to the next episode to find out what Attila gets up to next. You need to keep an eye on him
That sounds like it’s spoken with the benefit of hindsight
Attila’s approach to cultivation bears an uncanny resemblance to that of one of my relatives (by marriage, I hasten to add, not blood). I have forwarded this all-too-typically unpleasant episode to his long-suffering wife, in the hope that it brings her a shred of comfort of the ‘trouble shared’ kind. Her spadework and weeding have changed from a pleasant passtime to an endless necessity, driven on by despair and delay. Does Attila get about much? Is he good at disguises? On second thoughts don’t answer that – I shall just put my faith in the sedentary side-effects of football, another uncannily accurate resemblance I must say. Maybe there is an ‘officially catalogued’ form of Attila, all-too-imperfect copies of which emerge here and there like a self-seeding weed.
Thanks for this, Senex. Attila has a scorched earth approach to gardening, which is diametrically opposed to my own softer whimsy. Once he starts on a project, he is a juggernaut, difficult to derail. Next week’s essay is a case in point. I was once asked if I would prefer that he left the garden to me, to which I replied that he is the yin to my yang. He supplies a different way of thinking, which gives me new ideas. On occasion I want to change his mind with the back of a shovel but I suspect that he feels the same about me. He works like a demon if I ask, on my hobby, not his. As long as fixing the fencing doesn’t clash with an England match.
Well he has virtues which obviously I didn’t suffieciently appreciate: unfortunately the look-alikes have no genuine substitution for the really useful moves he makes – and as no garden is ever finished we all need an Atilla to challenge our complacency all the time and do the heavy work most if it! Here’s to the Atillas of our world, who save us from our otherwise sentimentally-overgrown secret garden by a creative gale of useful destruction!
I give you a qualified “Amen”.