Amidst his neat rows of crop producing plants, Joop was shoveling. I passed by, on the dried nettles covered track, plowing tiny wheels, from the DiBlasi fold bike.
. ‘Hey mr. plumber,’ Joop sang to me.
. ‘Good afternoon, you tedious gardener.’
. ‘New route?’
. ‘Yes, the other path is like a sand heap.’
. ‘Ah, no weeds there hey, only small grasses, blackberry and buckthorn.’
. ‘Yep, and lesser gardens too.’
While the Sun was almost setting, and our small talk progressed, his shovel shoveled as if not pushed by muscle, rather from experience and sheer knowledge it moved alongside and between his cherished plants.
. ‘Painstaking labour plumber, the weeds are relentless in their efforts.’
. ‘I see, master gardener, I see.’
. ‘You doing some gardening yourself? roundabout your tiny house?’
. ‘I’ve sown some wild seeds, taken from the berm of a road.’
. ‘Notice I did, as I strolled through the dunes.’
. ‘As we’re not allowed to really garden round the houses, I let it grow.’
Joop now looked straight at me, gestured I should come. Him being the man of good stories, I can never resist. First we shook hands. Then he pointed out some thick leafed tiny crawlers bordering on his garden.
. ‘That my friend, is the nightmare of any gardener outhere.’
. ‘I’ve seen it,’ and I kneeled to determine it was the same tiny green I could find round my house.
. ‘That plant,’ he continued, ‘doesn’t nourish the soil, at first you don’t see it, for it grows underneath the surface. When it’s wet like this years summer, it’ll bloom quickly, and before you know it the ground is depleted off all available nutrients.’ He always looked serious, as he lectured on gardening, Joop, man of these sands, walking encyclopedia of all that grows, flies and runs out here. ‘Some weeds you can leave in peace, the ones like these, are like wolf in sheep skin. There’s only one solution, take ‘m out, one by one.’
. ‘Eradicate ‘m?’
. ‘Well, that’ll be hard, they’re everywhere.’
. ‘Fence ‘m in?’
. ‘That’s more like it, put some more willows round your house, they’ll form a threshold, for they root deep.’
. ‘And then clean the soil I cherish?’
. ‘That my dear plumber, is where the heart of any gardener will start to flourish. Even when you only give way to local beauties to bloom. And some room for an occasional exotic species like the wineberry you planted.’
I looked at Joop, who smiled broadly. Of understanding we both grinned. I tapped him on his shoulder, and under the reddish sky of evening, I went to the pastures I so dearly cherish, laden with new knowledge.
.
Vince
8–12–2016
