Shredding the Night Away

I'm staking out the great big compost heap, which has been there for a year at least and never seems to diminish, it only grows bigger and ever bigger. Looki is staking me out.  I look up and he is at the top of the galvanized metal steps staring at me intently.  As I work he occasionally trots towards me as if to say "Isn't it time for dinner mum?" Looki is always on the make.  Candy is staking out some creature inside the heap.  It moves about a fair bit whatever it is.  I hear ominous rustling from time to time. From her lofty vantage point on the living room terrace Kerry stakes out Candy… and Looki …and me.  She is also staking out every cat within the boundaries of her vision – which is quite far.

The compost heap is the bane of my existence at the moment.  Nothing sees to rot quickly in spite of the heat.  I think it is the lack of moisture.  In Ireland I had the opposite problem.  The lack of heat and copious rain led to a disgusting heap of vile smelling sludge whenever I tried to compost.  To be fair, I think that composting has been the bane of my existence always!  Composting is an art and one I have yet to master. 

Ominous heap (dead centre of picture)

So last year we bought a garden shredder/chipper.  I was all set to shred everything as it came off the trees and shrubs so that I could use the chippings as a mulch.  However there are always a million and one other jobs to do and if the truth be known I am a bit afraid of the shredder. Some years ago I watched the film 'Fargo' and the chipper scene has had rather a lasting effect on me.  Vic did try it out once (the shredder that is, not a scene reenactment!), the last time he was here.  He found it quite difficult to master and advised stout boots, heavy gloves, overalls and a full face-mask.  Needless to say, the shredding did not get very far on that occasion and when I do gird my loins finally it's going to be quite a palaver.

So I have put it off and off until yesterday when I began the big bed clearance.  The compost heap is on the exact spot that I am building another large flowerbed.  It is strategically placed to form a link between the lower and the upper gardens.  I already have little saplings and shrubs and cuttings to put into it, but they are all waiting in buckets and pots or corners of flowerbeds until the bed is cleared and filled with earth.  So now that I have finally finished the lower level terracing (yes, I have!) there is nothing standing in my way of clearing and finishing the bed and getting it planted…except the shredder and the vivid memory of snow and blood.

Lower level terracing complete!  Looks lovely!

Looki has moved to a shady spot close behind me where he lies forlornly in the sand and rubble. He tries to look hungry and I have to look before stepping back so as not to tread on a paw.  Candy has moved to his former spot at the top of the steps and has her head wedged between the top step and the earth, peering intently through a mound of sticky weeds which I will spend the rest of the evening pulling off her fur.  She will still go to bed with a goodly sprinkling of sticky burrs, which will torment her and me the whole night through.  The creature that is now inside the steps teases and tantalises her.  Kerry has disappeared.  I imagine her like the queen bee lying in the coolness of the house on her big floor cushion, snoring gently with her little dolly between her front paws.

Looki puts on his 'hungry' face

Nothing has happened easily in this house, nor the garden and as I peel back layer after layer of dusty, partly decomposed vegetation I get speared and pranged, stung and bitten.  Everything then has to be carried up the steps to the upper part of the garden where the shredder is.  I am taking the opportunity to separate the softer stuff from the branches as there are two functions on our marvelous, state-of-the-art shredder, one for shredding and one for chipping.  I have another reason to be a bit nervous.  The wood which once was supple is now so dry that it is hard as a rock and I am certain that I will blunt the blades on the first go and probably burn the motor out in the process.  But we will have to see.  Perhaps I am only imagining the worst-case scenario to protect me from the slow and tedious work that lies before me.

"Baby steps" I keep reminding myself.  "Slow but sure wins the race" I tell myself. "Just keep on moving forward, one foot in front of the other."  I have all those promotional posters and sayings taped up on the inside of my brain.  My mantras for dealing with the stings and the scratches, the bruised calves and the aching muscles.  I am doggedly determined though and I know I will get there…eventually.

You've got to break eggs to make omelettes.  Things got a bit messy for a while.

Suddenly there is a scuffle and a yelping up top.  I can't see, but know Looki's voice and I know what has happened.  The dog next door started to bark and Kerry has come out all guns blazing.  The other two have also rushed towards the garage door to get closer to the bark and Kerry has thrown her snippy weight about and given Looki a nip and probably Candy too.  I yell from down the bottom and rush up the stairs three at a time.  They are all panicking on the Astroturf lawn and Looki is about to slink away into the house.  I call him kindly.  "Looki, Looki come here."  He starts to come and then shies away and then comes again.  When he is near me I start to tell Kerry off and he starts to shy again, so I have to ignore Kerry and hunker down to give him a good rubbing behind the ears and a firm body stroke.  All the while I am telling him that he is an exceptionally good boy.  Then he goes beserk for a few seconds.  We used to call it his mad five minutes, but it is more like 5 seconds of him rushing around like some mad bat out of hell, up and down the Astroturf taking sharp corners, skidding to a halt, round the column of the old, ruined building and sometimes even jumping up and nipping my sleeve or the bottom of my t-shirt or jumper.  All the while he has that mad, mischievous look in his eye.  It is lovely to see him letting off this energy and every time he lets loose like that I encourage him to find his inner puppy.  I think he is doing it right now because he is a bit embarrassed by the scuffle thing.  Perhaps he wanted to fight Kerry back, but knew that it would be wrong, but now he has to let off that steam in some way?  Dog psychologist me!

Terracing clear again and bed, to the left awaits soil and shredded compost.

And as quickly as it began the storm is passed.  We are all laughing and all friends again.  Nobody bears a grudge in our house.  Life is too short and besides there is still a compost heap to be shredded.

…and candy gets the last word, as always