The Wild Hairs (or is it hares?) of the Forest Floor

I spent a good three hours blowing leaves again today. Well, much of the time was not spent blowing leaves but, instead, extracting the leaf blower’s extension cord from beneath boulders. I would not be surprised to discover my time dedicated to leaf blowing cut in half if I were to invest in a gasoline powered blower. But, no. I bought a new extension cord, instead; it was cheaper. Some days, I believe my miserly ways are genetically driven; I have no power to overcome them. But the equipment is not the issue here, is it? No, of course not.

The issue is the frequency, or lack thereof, of my engagement in what, until I moved to the Natural State, was known as yard work but, in light of where I live, is now known as forest control. Today’s paltry three hours constituted the proverbial drop in the bucket compared to the amount of time I really should have spent “spiffing up” the yard. In fact, if I were to spent three hours a day for the next thirty days, I would make only a moderate dent in what needs to be done. I actually rather enjoy working outdoors (and indoors, as in remodeling, etc.), but I recognize my limitations of skill, physical capacity, financial wherewithal, and (in the final analysis) drive. But what I could do if I had an eager and physically fit helper! Ach, that is not to be. So I will continue to chip away at the needed yard work, with the objective of finishing the required tasks in the second quarter of the twenty-eighth century.

Regardless of my inadequacies today in forest control, I feel like I got quite a lot done. The front forest floor looks decent, except for the visible black Visqueen that looks like the front forest floor has open wounds in need of tending. Actually, what those open wounds need is pine bark mulch to cover them. If I had convinced myself last week to buy the gold-colored Ford Ranger truck I desperately wanted, I could have gone out today and filled the bed with much-needed mulch. But I allowed myself to be swayed by my wife’s pleading eyes; I abandoned the truck, even though I’m convinced I could have bought it for less than $8,000. Ach! I suppose I can pay for a lot of mulch delivery (and forest control work) with that kind of money. But paying someone else will not give me six-pack abs. I need to remember that, in case I need it next time I get a wild hair to buy a truck (which could happen at any moment).

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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