Someone who shall remain nameless, but knows who he is, has started gardening with an enthusiasm that has me slightly worried as to the future state of the herbaceous borders...
Him Indoors is on a mission.
Already he has weeded paths in the back garden, leaving them pristine and plant free. One of the old garden benches has been released from its dense mantle of ivy and stinging nettles, leaving it looking cold and slightly vulnerable. Parts of the drive have been vigorously denuded of all self-set perennials, whilst the area around the bird table has been razed to the ground leaving our feathered visitors twittering anxiously about the lack of perches. Even the top of the shed has been re-roofed with a new layer of felt.
Worse still, he’s started asking questions.
Him Indoors never asks questions!
I’m finding it rather disconcerting this taking an interest. Usually it’s the other way round with me striving to din some small nugget of botanical wisdom into my Beloved’s already crowded head; the ‘did you know, blah, blah, blah… that has him glazing over in no time. Now, he’s taken to asking about weed identification before digging anything up. And well, it’s weird! Where’s the man who was prepared to argue the toss over what constitutes too much pruning, usually when it was too late and the evidence was scattered all over the lawn. Now he wants to discuss the finer points of turf maintenance with all the dedication of a professional groundsman. Like I said, weird.
I’m beginning to feel that my position as head gardener is being somewhat jeopardised. It’s making me feel quite grumpy. This outdoor space that I have long thought of as mine, and mine alone, is now being invaded. And yes, I know I’m being totally ridiculous. After all if someone else wants to do the weeding, why should I stand in their way? Particularly if it’s not something I want to do.
Part of the reason I feel so pained is that he’s getting on with jobs that are long overdue. And, unaccountably, it’s making me feel guilty. On several occasions I have felt compelled to roll up my sleeves and make myself useful. And whilst it’s lovely to have someone to chat to (as well as keeping an eye on what he’s doing), the immediate disadvantage is having to share tools. Invariably at the same time.
Just in the way that certain plants have my affection and respect, tulips for example, long owned and well-worn garden tools hold a place in my heart. The older they get the more they seem specifically created for my particular needs. One of my hand trowels is so precious that I keep it in the house rather than risk losing it in the chaos of the shed: its handle fits snugly into the palm of my hand, while the stainless steel blade is the perfect shape for precise clean digging. I would be bereft if it got lost and that risk is substantially increasing. Even having two pairs of identical secateurs isn’t working. Both have slightly different cutting abilities, I use them interchangeably, depending on the task. Now, I’m having to ask to borrow them.
Maybe we need to have ‘his’ and ‘her’ tools. Him Indoors can start with the very nice digging fork I bought him for Christmas. Stainless steel with a beautifully crafted wooden handle, it replaces the old one he broke last year. I could perhaps, at a push, donate some of my less favourite items. One of the rakes perhaps, or the multi-change tool system that provides an abundance of different heads that I never knew I needed and never use…
Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to be gracious and accept his ‘help’ in the garden…
The Oakwood Chronicles 