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I've discovered that I really, really like pruning.
My trusty double-bladed pruning hand-saw* and I have felled one rhododendron and taken a good ten feet of height off another one. Not that I'd ever just head them back, mind you -- I hate seeing poor sheared trees, and I prune righteously, with the best of principles in mind. Of course, the fact that I mean well doesn't make up for the fact that I haven't a clue what I'm doing, but I don't really like rhodies to begin with, so if I really screw up I can take 'em out.
I mean, I'd feel really guilty about it, but I could.
I didn't feel guilty about the rhody I felled because it was such a poor pitiful thing to begin with, smashed next to it's sibling, under a veritable forest of light-blocking trees, and choked with ivy and blackberries. No guilt there.
I do worry about what it does to my character. I'm starting to understand the thrill of the hunt. If I had a truck, I would have mounted that 15 foot limb to the hood after I finally pulled it out of the tree (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
madalchemist forbade mounting it over the fireplace). I exhaust myself, but I can't tear myself away from the floral devastation. I took out several limbs today, despite knowing I have a gig on Friday that will require all my energy (No upper body strength to speak of + hand saw + 2 days = STIFF!). It's a tree carnage addiction.
Now, exhausted and with hair full of twigs, I'm tearing myself away from the yard so that I can paint a wall in the kitchen, because the gray-primer it has now is depressing. Candy-apple red, here I come!
*I borrowed it from my mother. It has serrations on both sides, which is about as obnoxious and impractical as it sounds, rather like those D&D weapons that consist of three words and a flail tied together in the middle.
My trusty double-bladed pruning hand-saw* and I have felled one rhododendron and taken a good ten feet of height off another one. Not that I'd ever just head them back, mind you -- I hate seeing poor sheared trees, and I prune righteously, with the best of principles in mind. Of course, the fact that I mean well doesn't make up for the fact that I haven't a clue what I'm doing, but I don't really like rhodies to begin with, so if I really screw up I can take 'em out.
I mean, I'd feel really guilty about it, but I could.
I didn't feel guilty about the rhody I felled because it was such a poor pitiful thing to begin with, smashed next to it's sibling, under a veritable forest of light-blocking trees, and choked with ivy and blackberries. No guilt there.
I do worry about what it does to my character. I'm starting to understand the thrill of the hunt. If I had a truck, I would have mounted that 15 foot limb to the hood after I finally pulled it out of the tree (
madalchemist forbade mounting it over the fireplace). I exhaust myself, but I can't tear myself away from the floral devastation. I took out several limbs today, despite knowing I have a gig on Friday that will require all my energy (No upper body strength to speak of + hand saw + 2 days = STIFF!). It's a tree carnage addiction. Now, exhausted and with hair full of twigs, I'm tearing myself away from the yard so that I can paint a wall in the kitchen, because the gray-primer it has now is depressing. Candy-apple red, here I come!
*I borrowed it from my mother. It has serrations on both sides, which is about as obnoxious and impractical as it sounds, rather like those D&D weapons that consist of three words and a flail tied together in the middle.
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Date: 2009-11-17 12:00 am (UTC)From:I followed you over from Ursula's journal -- hope you don't mind the "friend"ing. I *love* your sheep in space!
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Date: 2009-11-17 04:43 pm (UTC)From: