Don’t Plant Flowers In The Dark

Just because Human Highlights is over doesn’t mean Human Moments cease.

Take Wednesday night, for instance. Earlier in the day I’d bought two butterfly bushes and three hummingbird plants. I planned on putting them in the front “yard” area (it’s a hill with some grass and trees, but mostly mulch and perennials).

Mulch = weed barrier.

Weed barrier = total pain in the planting ass = process takes longer than usual = I want to dig in (literally!) and get it done.

We finished supper and, though twilight was settling, went outside. Miller got busy playing with sticks and dirt; I took the opportunity to grab scissors and the spade to get some plants in the ground.

The first plant went in easily; I’m getting better at cutting the weed barrier. Plus, the ground was soft enough that I could properly dig a hole rather than hacking at it like a chunk of ice. By the time I’d finished, twilight became dusk.

For plant two, I asked Mark to come over and give me a little light with his cell phone. (Do people even say “cell phone” any more? Should I just say phone? Have we gotten to a technological point where “cell” is automatically implied? I think that answer is yes.)

Anyway, I shoveled out the mulch revealing the weed barrier.

“What’s that?” asked Mark of the cyndrillical thing hovering just above ground.

“Tree root. Go get the loppers for me.”

When he returned, I cut off one end, pulled for as far as I could to get as much out of the ground – about two-and-a-half feet worth – and snipped the other.

“Wow, those must be sharp. It cut that easily,” he observed.

“Yep, it’s a good pair,” I said.

He’s right. The root did cut easily. A little too easily.

I picked up the section of root and waved it around showing Miller. It bent a little as I twirled it. That’s odd. So intent on the task at hand, alarms didn’t sound nor did red flags raise; I kept right on working by the light of Mark’s cell phone.

The next morning, determined to finish the job, Miller and I went back outside after breakfast. I planted the remaining three flowers quickly. As I watered them, I passed by the “tree root”.

That looks like a hose.

That’s part of the irrigation line.

You cut the $@#$^&#! irrigation line!

I may have panicked a bit.

Jumping to worst-case scenario, I imagined jackhammers tearing out part of the concrete drive in order to access the entire line. Once replaced, we’d be hiring concrete professionals to re-pour that section of drive.

Within a matter of seconds, I’d already wracked up thousands of dollars all because I insisted on planting flowers in the dark.

No way am I calling Mark about this. Not unless I absolutely have to. Nope nope. Head in the game, Jamie. Plumbers can replace sections of pipe. Maybe the line can be reattached…

Fortunately, the irrigation guy got to the house an hour later.

Fortunately, I still had the piece of line.

Fortunately, he was able to patch it. Patch it! Not replace it!

Fortunately, it only cost twenty dollars. Twenty Dollars!!!

And, fortunately, Mark is none the wiser. Well, until he reads this post.

I love you Mark. 🙂

People. Save some time. Save some panic.

Don’t plant flowers in the dark.

Butterfly Bush

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