I’ve been out of the old house for a few months now. With the warmer weather and the rain, the old place is poised to be engulfed by weeds and brush.
The largest flowerbed long ago became a wonderland for weeds and brush and woody plants. I am not really much of a gardener, and also I expected to leave the old house years ago. I couldn’t keep up with the encroaching wilderness, except in droughty years. All of the flowerbeds were infested, though. Many years ago, my brother dug up the flowerbed along side the house, and several feet of dirt beneath that, to add insulation to the wall. He also dug up other places to put in a sprinkling system. He just replaced the piles of dirt wherever, so that one sad planting misstep — I think it was a trumpet vine — ended up all over, in every flowerbed. The suckers don’t have blooms, they just attach themselves annoyingly to siding and ruin it.
The patio was made up of colored squares of cement, divided by slats. The slats looked good for a few years, but they have since rotted, and the weeds grew happily in the vacated space.
The neighbors, too, have hideous vines on the fence. The people who live there now didn’t plant them, the house has changed hands a few times. The fence-vines are even worse than my widespread vines. The fence-vines grow way beyond the fence, attaching themselves to plants and trees and anything else. Pale June bugs live in the mess of leaves on the fence. So it is quite a massive relief not to have to look at that god-awful fence with the ugly vines — I mean ugh-a-LEE.
I no longer have to worry about the weeds, or the roof leaking, or cutting the grass with a weedwhacker. I did finally get a low-cost lawncutting company to agree to cut my grass, but they said they’d put me on their list for next year, that is, now. I knew that I wouldn’t be at the old house by this time.
There is a gardening room here. I used to be interested in roses, but owing to setbacks and also having to cut the grass with a weedwhacker, I lost enthusiasm for plants in general.
The new place feels safer structurally, though the cooking and tobacco smells from other residents persist, and the banging of apartment doors and thumping of the cupboard doors odiously continues. All of this is bearable for the moment because I don’t have to cope with the weeds and the brush and the lawn.