From under the piles of snow, even before it was all melted away, appeared those sweet, brave snow bells, in full bloom. Amazingly white, whiter than snow, reaching up to the sky. A patch of little beauties, in a mantle of healthy green, slender leaves. Around them still messy garden residue from last year, brownish, but with signs of green sprouts coming up, promising that crocuses, daffodown dillies, and tulips are not that far behind.
I had been afraid that that particular spring pleasure had been taken away from me. Late last spring, without my consent, while I was away, my flowerbeds had been dug up and over planted with things busy body neighbours thought would be more aesthetic to look at. But, o joy, the bulbs survived. Wild Thing happy now. In the wake of of robins and red winged blackbirds, my snow bells appeared again. I apologized to them for not having greater trust in their survival skills. They outsmarted human intervention.
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Wild Thing, I'm surprised, truly surprised, that busybody neighbours (who surely know you by now) had the arrogance to decide while you were away what would be best for your garden.
I know. It's a flower bed closest to the road. After spring, bulbs gone, I give wildflowers a chance. Like corn flowers, Queen Anne's Lace, etc, Even maybe pretty thisles. I like my lawn not so short and give the pretty yellow flowers room to grow. Simon looks so gorgeous in them with his golden coat.But although many other neighbours like it too, the co-op gang in charge have their own opinion. I've battled battles with them. Logic don't work. They've called my creations eye sores, and so. While I was in Holland, they mowed down one bed, closer to the house, claiming that they didn't realize they were flowers. In the one close to the road, they dug out some coming up trees, (and ha, ha, replanted them close to the fence, and I would have been getting rid of them myself, had I had time.)They died.
They planted tacky flowers, surrounded by a tacky white wire fence. I hated it. I was too upset still about my dying sister to make a fuzz. They tried to apologize.
I must say that the weeds had gone a bit out of hand, since the weather before I left was too unco-operative to do garden work. Nigel even mowed the lawn. He said the kids had been watching them butchering my stuff and looked at them disgusted. They must've felt the disapproval. It happened just before I came back. I'd been away for four weeks. Anyhow, that was the year of the witch hunt and I was the witch. They were at my case for much other stuff.
Meanwhile they've found another witch. I hope to get more peace these coming seasons.
I've decided they should pay me for helping with pest contol. They blamed my longer grass for rodents. Cats may not run loose. Have to be chained and belled. My Yona is an outdoor cat. Cannot be helped. Houdini is his second name. Houdini kills about 3 or 4 rodents a day. Brings them faithfully home. Houdini catches them while grass is short. Nigel suggested I'd post the killed rodents on top of the fence to prove Houdidni's usefullnes. So far I have had no complaint about this cat.
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