On the first full day of spring, the man and I (mostly he) spent plenty of it outside, as the many jobs of spring cleanup ramped up to critical levels. There are already mounds of weeds eight inches tall, choking out several flower beds and making up nearly every speck of green lawn visible in the Park. We aren't too concerned with the fields of green yet, but now is the time to start grooming the beds, before they are totally out of hand. He made it through several yards more of the flower beds than I did, but I definitely made a contribution. And I cannot lie, I completely lost my cool when I knelt down to thoroughly weed around Cricket's grave. It was hard to see what I was supposed to be grabbing, as the tears filled the inside of my glasses. I'm still not over what happened last summer. It was with great relief that I discovered the American beauty berry bush planted over her grave survived being pot-bound until August, and it is starting to bud out along all the tips of the branches. After I composed myself, I went around to the side of the garage, and found tiny buds on the Rose of Sharon over Torden's grave as well. Of all the plants I have put in the ground myself, these are the two most important. I won't care that I can't get a jasmine to survive the winter, as long as these two flourish and are loved by the next head gardener of my Park.
I didn't see the man for upwards of an hour, and found him with the long loppers, finishing where I left off on the knockout roses. He cleared out a lot of the dead wood at the base of the bushes as well, raising the whole thing up out of the way of the lawn mower (unlike the last two years, when it was totally a pain to work around). Between the two of us, I think we now have that particular bank of roses where it needs to be. Only about seven or eight bushes to go this month. It's looking good for me to have healthy bloomers in time for the Kentucky Derby again this year. I don't think I'll remake my heavy, wet, completely rose-covered hat, though. I'll come up with something new this year.
As Zoe escaped through the deck door, past dog legs/wheels, we gave in and let the rest of the crew have some lizard hunting time. As far as we know, only one lizard came inside to die (or perhaps was dead when he was carried in). Still no sign of that skink from last week. I hope he found a way to get outside already. Murray had never seen the other cats in the Park before, and he was a little too enthusiastic in his chasing and herding (read: obnoxious and snappish). Athena wanted nothing to do with him, and arched her back and swatted, which just made him act out worse. She ran up one tree to higher than my head, and I told her to get back on the ground. Murray was still there, so up she went into the upper branches of one of the other sycamores, until she found herself stuck about twelve or thirteen feet off the ground. We let her drape across the branch and think about it for a few minutes, until she got tired of being there, and she asked me to get her down. We knew she was specifically asking for me, as she still gives the stinkeye to the man any time he tries to pick her up. I made him go get his extension ladder, and very slowly, I climbed as high as I could stand it. I am utterly terrified of heights, and ladders make them triply more frightening. My feet were probably only six feet up, if that, but I wasn't close enough to Athena for her to budge. She made me climb up one more stair past the end of my comfort zone, so she could zig zag down two branches with assistance. From there, she climbed into my arms, and slowly we came down the ladder. I only got one toe claw in my cheek in the process, and my legs felt like rubber for a good hour afterwards. I have a long-running photo album called "A Boy and His Ladder," all pictures of the man enjoying climbing around like the laws of gravity do not apply to him. Despite him having my phone in his hands, and thinking he was pressing the shutter button, no photographic evidence remains that I ever let my feet get that high off the ground. I take that to mean I don't have to repeat the process, because no one can prove I ever conquered my fears in the first place. I can still play dumb.
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