An English In Kentucky


















April 6th 2010    Tim Candler

    Currently it is hot with dry wind, and the next chance for rain is tomorrow night.  I can watch rows of seedlings and promise them only cold water from the hose pipe, which they appreciate, but which makes them shiver, and which causes them a confusion.

     I have considered watering in the morning so as not to chill ground before bedtime.  I have also wondered whether mid-morning might be the time to water.  I do know that without rain soon the year becomes ruthless.  Spinach will bolt by May.   And those tender things that prefer slower seasons will lapse quickly.  

    There is no doubt in my mind that the hose pipe is of all things the most infuriating.   I had so hoped not to have to mess with them until well into July, but there they are, laid out and disgruntled.   I know which one is the most troublesome.  It is green with a yellow stripe.   Already it has flattened a happy little line of tiny lettuce.

    A more soothing attitude is I suppose required of me.  I should rejoice with the hose pipes, treat them like princes, develop more venerable habits, roll them up after use, instead of tossing them aside, glad to be through with them at the end of the afternoon.  

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