Is how I look. And feel. Actually, I feel more then just a “little” puffy. Parts of my face are actually numb because
My hands smell like bananas because they are covered in new-skin, and they are covered in new-skin because I was out doing yard work this morning.
Today is the first day of spring. It is also my Dad’s birthday (Happy Birthday, Dad.)
The weather was warm enough and it wasn’t raining like it was all last weekend, so I was finally able to get out and clean out the flower beds. The cleaning, by the way, is pretty minimal. I pull out all of the dead stalks from last year (from the hostas, the daisies, and the lilies) and clean up the front walk and porch steps, but I leave most of the rest of last fall’s leaves where they are. I also gave all of the decorative grasses haircuts. It can be pretty satisfying and a lot of fun to go in with a pair of hedge clippers and whack, whack, whack away until a stand of grasses that was taller then I am is down to a couple of inches of stubble.
My yard style is more “English country garden” then anything else. Pretty wild and disorganized and lots of plants and other ground cover. The flowerbeds get pretty minimal interference from me. I water them when things get too dry, and every couple of weeks I go through and pull out crabgrass, dandelions, and other obvious weeds, but other then that… eh, not so much. As a result they are a lot rougher looking then most of the rest on the street. Of course, most of my neighbors are also retired or semi-retired and have moved to doing full-time yard maintenance in the spring, summer, and fall, and as a result have yards and gardens that are very very orderly and pruned to within an inch of their lives. Especially the across-the-street neighbors, who have mostly mulch and the occasional well shaped shrub in their flowerbeds.
Anyway, the decorative grasses are why my hands and arms look like they are covered in paper cuts, and why I have new-skin covering some of the larger (including a rather impressive one on my right palm) gashes on my hands. Those dead grass stalks are like razors.
I filled five yard waste bags with all of those cut-away grasses and dead stalks, which are now stacked in the garage and awaiting trash day. Unfortunately, they may end up waiting a while, since I seem to recall, now that I think of it, that the garbage men won’t pick up yard waste until after April 1.
When John and I were at 12th Night in Ann Arbor a couple of weeks ago, we attended a class on brewing root