Let's start with an up: I got my own pair of gardening gloves! I took an unnaturally long time picking them out at the DIY store. There were just too many to choose from and they all had a series of impenetrable rating systems that I studied in great detail despite not understanding a word of French. At last, I picked the pair with a very very good score at some things and a mildly poor score at some other things (no doubt thorn-defense) and I admit I was swayed not a little by their brilliant colour:
GLAMOUR GLOVES!
The day even started out well: there was a sunrise so rosy it was definitely impervious to the mass amounts of attempted destruction that awaited:
This was followed by the trip to the BricoDIY where I got the aforementioned gloves and a chimney cleaner for ADVENTURE PART TWO OF THE DAY.
Then: I got to burning. Or rather, I TRIED to burn. And tried. And tried. And tried. And despite my fire-whispering prowess (IT IS A THING) that can ignite our wood-burner in no time, this laurel was JUST. TOO. GREEN. There was not enough lighter fluid in the world that would convince it to burn. No, no, I just smoked heck out of it. It was wonderful, in that headache-inducing, coughing fits, weeping sort of way.
And so, sadly, I had to give up. BUT WE AREN'T DONE, ARE WE. Because we can't just leave that knee-high pile of cuttings down half the width of the garden to smother the grass, right? So, if I cannot burn it, I must . . . remove it.
So I started hauling. I say *I* because Al was inside at his computer this whole time, having to do actual work-work that pays bills, not this exciting, futile work that burns lungs and arms. So there I go, gathering one armful of branches and leaves at a time, carrying the bundle down to the foot of the garden to deposit it where we don't mind if the grass goes a little bit dead because that's where the creek runs, and left unchecked, the growth down there would go head-high in a matter of minutes. (We will ignore for the moment the temptation I had to toss it all straight into the water.) Al was able to join me about halfway through and - heartened by my excellent mood - helped me make short work of the rest. So now we have this:
YOU SEE THAT? A big ole dump of branches, like we didn't trim the hedge at all, we merely rebuilt it in a new location. Alas, there it will remain until it dries and we can try to light it again. Or until I sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and shove it all into the stream.
But guys, good news: there is still burning to be done today, which, in the innocence of time, I assume will be a success: we have got a toxic log to burn in our wood-burning stove tonight that - we've been told by local friends - cleans our chimney for us:
Once again, no idea what this says, but I'm assuming it's along the lines of 'wipes out tar and soot, the way your mother used to!' I do know our friends told us - under no uncertain terms - NOT TO OPEN THE FIREPLACE DOOR ONCE IT'S LIT LEST WE INHALE IT AND DIE. So this is definitely organic.
So today: we still burn.
Tomorrow, upon survival: we eat.
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