Ha! My reference in my last post about having lost not one but two flax-cutter tools spawned a few replies. Most people, it seems, lose trowels, weeding forks and secateurs in the garden. One person owned up to managing to mislay a spade for quite some time as well.
I try. I really do. I keep a tray of small garden items on a bench and take what I need from there and place them in a bucket to carry around the garden. Still, I managed to misplace a handy little weeding implement we know under its original brand name of ‘Wonder Weeder’ in this country. No matter that I realised within five minutes that it was missing in a confined area, I have yet to spot it. I am confident that it will reappear, that this is a case of not being able to see for looking. This is better than Mark who has put down his good secateurs and our brand-new pruning saw somewhere and has yet to locate them again. (Note: he has since found them in the grape house.)
I am generally well organised indoors and ours is not a household of odd socks waiting for their mate to reappear. However, I would like to know where sunglasses go to hide. I think I have lost three or four pairs in the garden and Mark sheepishly went to buy himself another couple of pair when he lost the last of his. Only one has ever reappeared so somewhere there are six or seven in concealment.
It does, however, allow me to dredge out a couple of old photos. The first was a rake head, exhumed from a patch of clivias I was dividing. Well, I assume it was originally an entire rake left there in error when the first plantings were done more than a decade earlier. I take no responsibility for that because I didn’t do that planting.
But truly, the best and funniest example is the missing hedgeclippers. “I wondered where they had gone,” said Mark a year, or maybe two later. Clearly, he always meant to go back and do some more pruning on the Magnolia laveifolia at the time but by the time he needed the ladder elsewhere, he had forgotten about the clippers. They made a good nesting platform.
Mark and I lead a life filled with umbrellas. This has a lot to do with the both the climate and the geography of our property. It is a fair distance out to the letterbox and similarly, the distance from the house to the all-purpose shed we are in an out of all day long is far enough to get drenched in a downpour. Mark always reaches for an umbrella, not a raincoat, when he is heading across the road to move the electric fences for his steers or to inspect his trial plants. We have umbrella stands on both the back doorstep and at the shed. Even operating off about eight in regular use (plus my good one in the car and the folding umbrellas for travel), it is still possible to run out at one end or the other. It is also very handy to have plenty of umbrellas when the garden is open and that time is looming large. So, I was delighted when my new supply arrived this week.
Briscoes’ sale brollies, of course (that is a reference which will only make sense to New Zealanders) but are they not a pretty combination this time? The little penguin one is a present for my grandson. The clear one is because that style is handy when leading tours around the garden on a rainy day (and I have a few of those tours coming up).
For I have measured out my life, not in coffee spoons, but in brollies and lost sunglasses.