Gardening can only be enjoyable in wellington boots. If it’s too hot to wear wellies, then Don’t garden - you’re just asking for steamy exhaustion, tiny, vicious critters that fight back when disturbed, and a knotty jungle of green that actually grows as you watch.
Not to mention Ticks, which in fact, I have mentioned before… http://doloresdays.blogspot.com/2007/05/tick-trauma.html
Gardening in wellingtons is quite pleasant! It’s satisfying to slash away at What Once were Plants, to simply tug off that curly weed thing that in summer coiled like a metal spring round your roses, to boldly go behind the gas tank and be able to See what you’re treading in…
George also donned his boots and, deciding those pesky leylandeii weren’t too bad really, we sallied forth for a walk. We’re lucky to live on the edge of a village, close to forest, field and vines. I will now attempt to insert photo of Vines!
When we first visited this region, I was astonished at what vines looked like –I’d imagined tall, willowy trees, wafting their alcoholic scent for many miles around. Instead, they’re short, knobbly things that you could picture getting up when bored,to wander round muttering at each other...
(Were their rows not so well-regimented for ease of pruning and picking).
Anyway - Wellies add so much to a walk, don’t they; the joy of sploshing through muddy puddles, (particularly having grazed some mountainous residue of recent dog), of charging fiercely through bracken, of skilfully kicking an aerodynamic pebble to watch it land eighteen whole inches away. Of caring not of scuffed leather or snapped heels…
Oh! Black of hue and tractor-treaded
Wherein all sorts of crotte embedded…
To boldly bound through mire & hedge
Is what we Love. Though p’raps a Wedge
Heel… built-in corn pad, GPS…
Could just refine their rubberness
A bit…
PERISH the thought!
