April 23, 2024

Shakespeare’s Birthday. 

Cool, and then lovely. G and his mute helper came early in their yellow steam shovel to scrape away the honeysuckle from my outside yard. I’ve not actually inspected the outcome, but I suspect it’s both horrifying and satisfactory. That it wasn’t the job it was supposed to be is likely, as they didn’t scrape deeply enough to remove the roots. But the incredible biomass that refused to admit even the sharpest spade is gone, and I can find the roots myself, dig them out one by one. I watched the elbow of their machine shaking the mulberry and the cherry. Perhaps they survived. Their leaves at this hour remain unwilted. While they worked I did the same job more traditionally on the other side of the fence. This effectively doubles the size of my garden. I bought huge amounts of seeds, as though I’d planned this project unconsciously this winter. G and Tony share being Mexican and talkative, which means I spend a measure of time listening to anecdotes I don’t fully understand. G told me about eating delicious cherries either on a job or back home in Mexico, a conversation brought on by his admiration for my mulberries, which are known and cherished in his homeland. He observed that several of his recent clients had been named David. 

K stopped by, and we chatted as we do once every year or so, living a two minutes’s walk apart. She continues to shed a realistic light on life as a flight attendant.