Down the cart path behind the house, beneath the cedar and the Monterey pine there lay a bed of desultory rosemary, a twisted mound of leggy and stringy stuff a good six-feet long with only a bit of green at the tips – perhaps original. Next to it was a white picket fence of a compost mound. Square, fake plastic lattice, four feet on each side, a dry and leathery hump – little more than a rodent hotel. We hid in the cool shadows and attacked with loping shears.
It’s amazing how much you can actually fit in a rolling yard-waste bin if you mulch away at the contents, I believe it’s how I get my revenge on vegetation and vegetarians – I hate plants and chop them into tiny pieces. I like the rocks that hide beneath plants.
All the many years of fine plant fluff and duff remained locked in rock crevices, so out came the Shop-Vac and I set to work vacuuming the fine, big rocks below. I collected three bags of dirt and tiny rocks and wasted vegetation to go in the yard-waste cans. Pour it in and it’s like adding sand to a jar of sticks – there’s plenty of room between the interstices of vacant space.
Note to self: get a new Shop-Vac pleated filter, this one is clotted toast.
In other news, another Ramone has sadly bit the dust. RIP Tommy, he was only 62. Of the few concerts I attended they will never be forgotten. I saw them at the Santa Cruz Civic when they opened for Bob Marley – and were clearly superior. The crowd was insane and three times I had to search on the floor for my Levis’ jacket that I was wearing on my body – somehow it just kept coming off. I left the show after a few reggae songs. Bob was OK but his wife was over-emphasized and I was not impressed – it simply got boring and failed to captivate me…