Installing drip irrigation lines can lead to some unwanted encounters with angry ants, resentful roses and psychotic stones.
"You should be wearing kneepads for that type of work," the county agent told me, as I knelt among the coneflowers and verbena.
"Oh, you are. Good! You've done this type of work before," he added, going on his merry way.
Actually, I had not done it before; although I'm glad I wore the kneepads. "It" was the installing what seemed to be miles of plastic drip systems through summer flowerbeds, and I was spending the better part of the morning crawling through layers of aggressive pine straw mulch, angry flowers and other psychotic plants.
So far I had encountered angry fire ants (20 of them injected formic acid into my left arm in unison); a particularly resentful rose bush, which laid a bloody gash down my right arm when I passed near it; and a psychotic stone that jumped out of my hands and onto my foot.
"I volunteered for this?" I wonder. At the same time, I'm trying to appear manly and unfazed by the unwarranted and vicious flora and fauna attacks. My self-indulgent reverie was interrupted when the guy who was supervising the installation of the system called out. "Ready for a break?" he asked. "I know I am. It's pretty hot out here."
He, of course, had spent the morning pointing to spots and measuring plastic pipe, and hadn't even broken a sweat yet. I, however, was nearing sunstroke, severely injured, and resentful that no one had even noticed how bravely I was ignoring the pain.
I am a garden lover, and a gardener, but this work seemed a little over the top. When we stood back and looked at what we had done, things like my left arm hanging limp, my right arm soaked in blood and the noticeable limp I was developing seemed small in comparison. Yeah, right.
Although, I must say, I did a pretty good job on the drip system.
