A plant tragedy

This week got away from me. There was also a bit of plant tragedy, which left me a bawling fool yesterday. You see we’ve got a yard that sides with the high school football field. This is actually a good thing because it means we don’t have neighbors lurking behind us, things are pretty quiet for the most part, we have AMAZING views, and if kids decide to hang out late-night on the field and do things that teenagers do, we can always call the cops and complain (and they show up with this crazy-bright strobe light and do this hunt-and-chase thing with the kids that is kind of cool instead of just yelling at them or something).

For the last three years I have nurtured several plants along the fence line, weaving them into the fence, building a natural layer of privacy instead of putting up a big fence that would block the light and completely close us off from the field. Here and there are small holes for use to catch a glimpse of the soccer game on Sundays or the fall football games.

Here’s the picture I posted just the other day after we racked leaves.

See that nice, lush wall to the left of my tot? All the plants on my side of the fence are still there. Any parts of them that grew through or winded their way within that fence are gone.

It’s just chain link again.

I was in tears for most of the day yesterday.

Yes. I know that’s a bit pathetic, but I cried over the time I spent with those pants. I cried about how they were chopped and butchered with a seriously loud gasoline chainsaw. I even went and asked the school gardener yesterday though tears if he really needed to cut them, to which he responded that it was his job and that he is a gardener and knows what he is doing.

I couldn’t stop crying.

Today is a new day and I do realize I was a bit distraught over plants that will grow back in time, but still ache over what had been my happy plants. I’d post a picture but I haven’t been able to visit the yard without getting a bit teary-eyed.

Tomorrow we have plans for building a fence, which might end with the husband and I having a drop-down-drag-out fight or us happily sipping cocktails in our newly fenced yard by Sunday.

(And the fence building I will document. OH yes I will.)


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