Back to Square One

If you cast yourself back to the night before the night before Christmas, you'll recall Al, the guy who parked his Jeep in my plumbago hedge. Since then, I've been doing several things.

-- Plucking further dead shoots and branches out every day, and watching the hole grow.

-- Reflecting on how much effort I've put into the hedge -- feeding, weeding, and daily primping, pruning -- and how many times I've basked in the joy of people saying how lovely it is.

-- Establishing some perspective. This is a hole in a hedge, after all.

-- Realizing that the hole isn't going to look better by itself.

So, out with the loppers I borrowed from Don at Duval House. And alternate with the little clippers. And with a rake. And with my fingertips. Two hours later . . . it almost looks as if it were planned that way.

And maybe in another year it will turn again into a cascading wall of green dusted with blue flowers.

Until then, it's just a hedge I tend, and feed, and trim, and primp. And don't prune much at all.