Garden work

Last weekend my fella and I worked in his mother's garden preparing it for winter.

She has the most beautiful garden. I don't think I have the sort of command of the English language required to describe it. Here is a taste. Stone steps. Dry riverbed. Herbs. Ornamental grasses. Flowers. Bird houses. Vines. Fruit trees. If fairies existed, this is where they would build their metropolis.

The temperature was mild and I helped to clean up here and there. She would point with a rake and tell me which plants to cut back, which to pull out. I started to understand her methods. Depleted tomatoes and vegetables are composted. Woody stemmed plants are cut back in anticipation of the new growth in the spring. Leafy, viney plants remain because over the winter they make good dirt. She says "dirt" rather than the term "soil" because she's not a stuffy lady. "Dirt" she says and crinkles her nose, indicating that it's stinky and organic - and therefore good for her purposes.

The knees of my pants were wet from kneeling in the lawn. My hair was whipped and knotted from the wind. The air was clear and mild, and towards the end the owl made it's self known. I found myself at peace.