I'm used to doing this in the pool, walking till I'm just past that sudden point of exhaustion. I don't do it all the time, and have (finally!) learned to bring granola bars in the bag with my towel, etc., so I can replenish my energy, rather than trying to fight through it to make that half-hour trek of a hundred feet to my car, pausing often along the way.
Today was different. I knew I was getting a little tired, but was taking it easy in the backyard, working from a lawn chair, pruning back unwanted trees growing near/along/through the fence and "painting" their short stumps with brush killer. Mostly these are in their second year of growth, though some have been cut back and sprouted half a dozen new trunks. One is actually in need of a saw, i.e., a job for Paul. The ones right next to the fence can't be gotten with the mower, though Paul gives it a good try. The resulting trunks grow in all directions, most of which include a passage through the chain link at some point. Sometimes twice or three times.
I have to avoid cutting back the shoots which run up the neighbor's side of the fence, unless of course they wind through my fence, in which case they are partly in my yard and legally mine to kill off and remove. Sometimes I fudged it just a teensy bit, if they were small and close enough to reach through the openings in the wire with my little pruners. Shhhhhh. I am, after all, preventing damage to my property. I had that fence put in. I paid for it. If I can also push that short-handled foam brush which holds the brush killer and reach the cut surface of the sprout, and catch the cut piece before it falls out of reach, I figure it's fair game. There is plenty of evidence that the neighbors are doing much the same on their side of the fence. Just without the brush killer. The clumps get pretty thick. I'm doing them a favor, right?
It's actually pretty engrossing. The temperature starts in the high 60s when I go out, and ends in the high 70s, perfect for yard work. No skeeters, both for a light breeze and the fact I take my work shirt outside into the screen porch, douse it thoroughly with OFF! front and back, and then put it on just before I head out. (I can't spray my own back.) I'm mostly working in the shade from a grossly overgrown silver maple tree clump in the next yard. All in all, perfect conditions for working, no distractions. Each bit of progress along the fenceline results in the need to go a little further, take out the next whatever, set new goals for just how far I want to go today.
Is there a vine needing to to be disconnect from the ground? Then pulled out of trees? Unwound from the fence? Is that an oak/maple/box elder/ash/chokecherry/apple/sumac/buckthorn I'm cutting out? Something unidentified? Have I gone far enough that I can no longer toss my cuttings over my shoulder and need to start the next pile? Does this cut need the little clipper or the big loppers? Wait, both? Seriously?
By the time I'm nearing the end of my ambition, it renews now that I'm behind the chokecherry hedge, if something 25 feet tall can be called a hedge. Covering the ground on the front (to us) side are various stacks of firewood, stacked between trunks for sorting, graduated by size and age, starting with twigs and ending with... oh wait, we seem to be out of the split wood now. No biggie, the bonfires/weenie roasts/s'mores events we hold for entertaining will never use up the ever-renewing supply of firewood. If Paul finally follows through and takes out the two large apple trees which do an excellent job of producing lumps and worms and nothing actually edible, their trunks would actually have to be split, and that stack would be a stack again. He was going to do it last fall. Now maybe late this summer. If nothing else, the lawn will be much easier to mow when the mower doesn't have to bump over deadfall apples.Then the currants may finally get enough sun to produce fruit, something actually usable.
While all this goes through my head, I keep seeing the next part of the way to cover, still have energy, still don't need to take a bathroom break (amazing, right?), and Steve hasn't poked his head out the door to find out if I'm surviving, wherever I am. I begin to think a bunch of time has gone by when he actually does check on me. Just another three feet or so, and I can quit. The way beyond that is unmanageable with my tools. I'm almost out of brush killer in my little bottle as well.
When I start to pick up my tools, grab the chair and drag it back out with me, it hits. That WALL! I am thoroughly exhausted, but have to take the tools to the screen porch, leave the chair where it can be seen for next use. I'm at the other side of the lawn but I'm going to make it. What choice do I have? I almost have to pee anyway. (Can we spell "dehydrated"?) Off come the gloves, the shoes, and I shoot a quick "I'm beat!" look Steve's way as I head down the hall. He recognizes that communication. I find I'm too tired to get off the "throne" for about 10 minutes, so it's good thing there is no crowd waiting.
After dragging my sorry a... uh, self to the refrigerator to grab a cold naked precooked brat and a glass of cold water, I plunk in my chair. It's one that is built for Paul's frame, so after sitting I have to butt-walk back into it all the way. But I'm too tired. The dog jumps up on my lap anyway, and I manage a little petting with the hand not holding her temptation, but still have no energy to sit straight in the chair. Steve walks by and has to pause to go around my feet which are sticking way out into his walking space. We both manage a weak chuckle but he makes it past. Both ways.
I'm finally curious enough to look at the clock and we work to figure out how long I was actually out. I returned to the house just before 3PM. We remembered I gave Steve his morning meds just before 9AM, just before heading out. OMG! Six hours straight! I gotta find some carbs to make up for that. Once I have some energy of course. And figure out what I want/need. Eventually my brain shifts into gear and I recall the carton of mint chip ice cream in the fridge. Soon as the body follow suit, I go for a dish.
Now I'm starting to think a little acetaminophen is needed for those muscles starting to remind me just who actually did all that work!
Soon.
Once I feel like getting up again.
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