Being an Old Manse we have an Old Manse garden. Two ministers in 108 years had little else to do but lovingly tend it. It is really too big for us and the garden is always away ahead of us. We get occasional help from Stan the Man, a farm worker who moonlights (at times quite literally) as a jobbing gardener. We never know when he is coming even when he phones from his van that he is on his way-like Godot he vanishes en route. He is over committed and has to oblige too many clients to be reliable to one. There are certain things that Stan loves to do-to strim is his delight. We just stopped him from strimming a very young Beech tree which was 70 trees short of a hedge-Stan is good at strimming beech hedges so he thought that our wee tree would be a good start. He loves working in the dark-once he cut through our neighbour’s phone line mistaking it for a honey suckle shoot-easy to do 4 hours after the sun has set. He is not directable. The wife will patiently give him a list of tasks and unless one is strimming or another edging he won’t do them. He has a hazy idea on what are weeds and what are, say flowers, so weeding is a bit of a lottery. But I suppose looking at the balance sheet, he is just an asset. And a wonderful conversationalist. Get him between you and the door and you are there all night. He was meant to come today-a glorious Winter Fishless one-but never showed. Waylaid by his own verbosity, I suspect.
Hutton Haiku # 67
Stan
the man is not
A gardener. But a two
Legged strimmer.
Pray the
Fuel runs out
soon.
