..How to be extremely annoying.
It’s hard enough to keep up with all the watering needs of various plants- especially newly-transplanted ones in my growing garden- without having to grapple with the damned garden hose.
I went to Home Depot which is enough of a frustration in and of itself, and bought a hose that guaranteed not to kink.
So after planting a slew of brand new volunteers in my south-facing (read-hot as HELL) rock garden, I decided to take ten minutes out of a busy Saturday morning and give the sumac, new plants, poppies et.al. a nice sweet soak. Stand there in the early morning sun and enjoy myself, feeling righteous.
The hose lives on a big hose reel (another term I just learned) on the west- facing side of the house which is on the street. For me to get to the south side and stand there sedately while I sprinkle my plants, I have to heave the lot of that snaking green mess off, loop by loop, then ease it around the front of the house, across the garage, through the chain link fence and down the steps.
I did all that, and pulled the hose gently with my brand new twenty-five setting garden sprinkler thingie on the end (I haven’t gotten that term yet) around the corner. Walked back, turned the water on full.
Got ready to feel righteous. Squeezed the handle.
Well crap. Okay.
So I walked all the way back and stumbled on, whaddya know, a kink.
Bent over, straightened it out. Walked back to the end of the hose, ready to play Righteous Rain Woman.
Walked all the way back, found another kink hidden under some low-lying evergreens. Bent over, straightened it out.
Walked back to the end of the hose.
You know damned good and well what’s coming.
My non-kinking hose, for which I paid a small fortune, had something like seventeen kinks in it. After the fourth time I got the message. I walked the entire length of the damned thing, smoothing out all the kinks until I finally, finally had them all cleared out.
So much for a few minutes.
So I finally stood on my concrete steps, in what was now a much hotter sun, and commenced watering.
About half an hour later I was finished. Now standing on the highest step, I view the dewdrop-like glitter of the sparkling drops on all my scorched plants with pleasure. Then I headed around the corner.
As I picked up speed, suddenly I was jerked backwards with force, the hose flying out of my hand.
I walked back to inspect what had happened.
Note to self: if there’s a step, the hose -THIS hose- will catch on the corner.
I nearly got whiplash.
That happened twice before I realized that this hose had it in for me. If I was going to master the situation, I was going to have to take all the coils in hand, minding the winding kinks, and carry the sucker back to the reel.
Holy cow. Gardening is turning out to be more dangerous than skydiving (and I have 130 jumps, so kindly, I know whereof I speak).
Getting it back on the reel was a whole other process. Kinking constantly as I looped the coils back on, I wound the recalcitrant hose back onto its reel with care. All this with a painful rotator cuff that is healing from recent surgery.
Yah. A calm, easy morning watering the plants.
I called my buddy Melissa, who had put me onto the local nursery and was the root cause (pun intended) of my misery as I slathered Mary’s Freeze CBD oil onto my aching shoulder.
She cracked up.
“Welcome to gardening 101,” she managed to choke out.
I’d like to choke the joker who promised me a non-kinking hose.
Look, I’ve been known to curl a very long, thick boa constrictor around my neck. This is a LOT harder.
I’m not sure what will kill me faster. The boa or the hose.
I’m going to bet on the garden hose.