Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Procrastination and Guilt

Ten roses to plant, no , the soil is not yet prepared, the holes
are not dug , the sheepmanure has not been trundled up the hill
by wheelbarrow. Three tree Peonies, a bag of tulip bulbs and sundries
ditto. Not all my roses (150) nor grapevines are as yet pruned. Oh help, the orchard is waiting too and the season is advancing at lightning speed. The garden beds are grassed up to my knees not to mention the paths. I need at least another 48 hrs. a day extra to catch up not to mention the strength and endurance as I flag after a couple of hours work and need a solid rest.
Guilt overwhelms me, so I procrastinate by writing my blog. Getting things off one's chest, although not serving any other purpose, at least momentarily seems to lighten one's load a little. I do hope to make some progress to-day. At least it's not as cold and windy as yesterday. Oh dear, I just remembered : my winter-hardy vegies aren't in yet either, nor the patch of rye I was hoping to grow for old times sake. A blackcurrant bush I struck last season needs a transplant. I lost all its bretheren as well as all except one and a half strawberry plants also most of my raspberries in last summer's drought not realising that the water from our major dam(n) had become much too saline for garden use. All our dams dried up for the first time in 17 years on the farm.
Enough whinging, I feel better already.
In the immortal words of Sam Gamgee's gaffer: "the job not yet begun takes longest to complete!" So back to my trusty spade, fork and pruning shears.


  1. Dear Arija ~
    So glad to meet you today. I love your blog and your photos are breathtaking! Your writing makes me feel like your friend...Thanks for your nice comments on my web log. I'll be back! Hugs, Sandy
    P.S. Love your name! ;-)

  2. Dear Sandy,
    You sound like one to me too. Thanks for calling back. I actually did try to capture an old memory after perusing your wonderful watercolours. Both memory and technique were out to tes so the result left plenty to be desired. What would we be without desire?


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