GARDENER, JOHN GARDENER

I had a look at the garden the other day. It's a mess. I started clearing some creeper a few weeks ago but then hurt my knee and wasn't able to finish. Now things have really got away in the hot weather. It needs sorting, in a big way.

I contacted my old alter-ego Humbert for advice. After I'd outlined the problem he was silent for a while, thinking, although I could swear that I heard some wine being drunk. Finally he said "I'd like to help TC but as you know my forte is in wine. Good wine. I've got a cousin though who could help. his name is Gardener. John Gardener. No middle name. Just call him Gardener. I'll get him to call you. Got to go now, Trixie's waiting".

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I didn't get a call from John Gardener but when I woke up this morning (you know the song) I saw a guy standing in the backyard looking at the garden. A big guy. Gardener. 

When I greeted him he said "Humbert told me you had a problem so I came as quick as I could. I can be your new alter-ego. I'm just in time I think. This is bad. Very bad". He looked at the creeper that was choking the ferns and pungas; the convolvulus that was strangling the feijoa trees; the thistles lurking amongst the native grasses; the nasturtium that has invaded from the neighbouring property and lawn grass growing wild amongst the flaxes and ferns. "Bad, very bad".

Gardener asked if I had any tools. I said that The Old Girl doesn't trust me with tools but I'd managed to hide some secateurs and a Niwashi, a curved flax-cutting tool see: HERE

I said that I also had a tool belt although as I wasn't allowed to have hammers and screwdrivers it hadn't been used. Gardener looked at me strangely and said that that would do. He loaded up the soft leather tool belt (unused) with the niwashi, secateurs, gloves and The Old Girls garden trowel. He was ready. Very ready.

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GARDENER

"Yes I got here just in time. That's for damn sure" thought Gardener as he looked at the invasive weeds that were slowly but steadily taking over the property - front and back. It was going to be a big job but he wasn't worried, he'd handled bigger. It was the diversity of the weeds that posed a problem as they each had to be approached differently. One tool wouldn't work for all of them. He thought of weed-killer but quickly dismissed that idea. He (his alter-ego owner) had a cat and there were lots of native birds living here and besides, it was a sloping section with run-off that would go into the sea. No, weed-killer was out. It would be muscle power and determination that would win this fight.

Gardener began ripping away at the most accessible weeds, the ones that had climbed up the taller plants and trees. The weeds fought back with some trying to rip and tear at his arms and face. "Hope for the best but plan for the worst" he said to himself as he put on gloves and doubled his efforts. Another cousin of his had once advised that in a tough fight it's best to use your elbows. Gardener used more elbow grease and soon had cleared  all of the clinging creeper and ivy that had attempted to take over the bank below the lawn. He now got out the trowel and dug out the thistles and smaller, more resistant weeds and tossed them onto the heap. 

Gardener smiled as he dug out toadflax remembering (via shared memory) the post of some years back when he'd described Bennet, that horribly arrogant MP who's now got her comeuppance as toadflax. See:  TOADFLAX

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By midday it was too hot to work so Gardener stopped and went for a swim  as the tide was now in. The water was warm enough for swimming but also refreshing after his efforts.

"I'll be back tomorrow TC" he said with a wave as he trotted off down the drive.

"Thanks Gardener" I called to him "Much appreciated."