flipped

Sometime right around dawn I had an epiphany: flower field number 11, the one by the barn, all newly planted this year, is not doing so well because the trees grew so tall in the last year or two that they completely blocked out the sun. I had remembered it as a fairly sunny spot. That is so wrong. On the other hand, the big hostas in the other new bed (aka number 3), the one that went up as Ed brought down a couple of dying trees, are drying up from excessive sun. This is the first summer without those trees and the dappled shade I had remembered here is actually full blown sun for a good six hours of the day. The solution? Flip the beds! Dig up the hostas and put them in flower field number 11, dig up the day lilies and false sunflowers from 11 and bring them into all this sunshine! Isn't that a great plan??

In theory it's fantastic! Win win! In practice? Well, let's see how the day proceeds.

First, the morning walk. I am snipping spent lilies like mad. It doesn't look dense out there yet, but I'm sure I've exceeded 100, maybe even 200 this morning and it's not even July yet. Things are looking just fine out there!

(lilium, exploding!)

 

(back by popular demand: the green froggies who love love love my day lilies!)

(cascading Clematis)

(daisies and day lilies)

Breakfast. 

Now comes the big flip. My first job is to dig out the massive hosta. Really, I should dig out more than just one, but that's too ambitious. I'm not that nuts. It's really humid out there and once again Ed keeps reminding me to pause and drink water.

The plant is massive. A jumble of leaves and roots, fatter than a barrel. I can't do it. I literally jump on the handle of the spade to get it to pry those roots out of the soil, but they are all intertwined with the thick roots of the dead tree and I just cannot pry the plant loose. Ed comes out to help and together we finally hoist the green giant onto a tarp and then into a wheelbarrow. 

The rest is a breeze. Seven day lilies come out of Field number 11 and go into Field number 3. All I need to do now is get monster hosta into the ground over by the barn and move the false sunflowers over to Field 3. Later. I'll do it later. Ufff! I'm thinking that this is the kind of work you should do only after you've just had a stress test. I mean, if I can run uphill, I should be okay lifting out overzealous hostas.

At 1, I take a pause to pick up some flowers. The cut kind. Back in February, it struck me that it would be really nice to hand over a few dollars to local farmers rather than to my grocery store for the cut flowers that tempt me all summer long. So I signed up for a flower CSA. I don't regret it, though today's bunch, the first of the season is very... dainty. I'll be going over to our meadow to supplement it for sure. (Next to it is a day lily stem that the boisterous cats knocked over. Thanks, cats.)

Okay, back to the flower field flipping. All afternoon I dig and move. Until my predawn fantasy is a reality and most of the plants are now in their suitable environments. I say most, because I can only do so much in one day. I am, however, hoping that tomorrow's morning epiphany will be something like -- wouldn't it be splendid to sit out on the porch on a cushiony chair and read the rest of my novel? Days of strenuous work should be mixed with days of no work at all, don't you think?

Toward evening I do put my feet up for a Zoom call with my two friends who live in the far southern corners of this country. I wish we had a regular old meetup, but the fact is, they do live far so Zoom for us is really a gift that keeps on giving.

As we linger a little longer, I hear Ed drive off for his Wednesday night bike ride (he takes the car to the starting point). And then he comes right back.

What's wrong?
The car. The spark plug wires have been totally chewed up. Two of them. Decimated.

By whom?? 

Um, an animal obviously. Maybe a chipmunk.

I glare at the cats for letting some rodent get the better of us. Dance goes off to chase a bug, the others sprawl out in the courtyard, unfazed by any of this.

What happens now?

I go buy some new wires. Darn it, those were good ones, too. I'd just replaced them.

I think of all the ways that living here on the farmette is only possible for me because Ed is there, to lift out a hosta or to replace wires that some animal eats in your car. 

Thank you -- I tell him. He doesn't ask "what for?" Just mutters uh huh... He knows.