​The thought came to mind yesterday, while I was hanging precariously from a branch overlooking a number of spiky looking tomato stakes that I had forgotten to remove from the garden before climbing the ladder, that it was time to upgrade my watering system for Nick, Nora and Honi, the Butterfly Garden.
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Basically, this is what ​​I've got in each of the gardens -- a Nelson Pattern Sprayer adjusted to the edges which waters each garden for ten minutes every other day. Since I don't know how to program the watering system, they also go off at odd times of the day or night, either drenching me, or scaring the golly by crap outta me in the middle of the night and sending me skittering down the stairs waving what I thought was a handgun and yet appears to be a hairbrush.
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​I also have one of these, an ancient tractor sprinkler that I inherited from my Grandfather. He knew I would put it to good use as either a sprinkler or a short run, very slow mode of transportation. (So far, the best I've been able to do is 220 feet down the street before the hose ran out.)

​The one I've got is probably close to 90 years old and has been repaired about 95 times. I'm thinking to retire it, restore it, and use it as art. My wife says, that will never happen, unless of course its garage art.
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Like the bicycle crashing through the wall art I tried to make a few years back. That became garage art. Then garbage art when I wasn't looking. (It was like prohibition: they passed it while our boys were "over there.")
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​The thought had been to go industrial this year, but given the size of these things, we, meaning not I, decided against it. I tried to build a smaller version out of a red wagon wheels and PVC pipe, but during the first test flight, the flow was too high and it raced across the yard, burst through the fence and watered two dogs and one ground hog on the bike path.
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What I was thinking was water features in a more conventional style. A European Style, much like the fountain in Nowa Huta, Poland, which celebrates Vladimir Lenin's Communistic Urination Prowess.

​(At least I think it celebrates him.)

​While I enjoy the spirit of the fountain, I have a problem with simple garden coverage. One asparagus plant will do well, but beyond that, we'll have drought conditions on the Collective Farm Unit.
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​The same coverage problem exists with these fountains.

​You know, I've got to wonder if all fountain makers back in the day were 12 year old boys, as there sure is a lot of peeing imagery in the fountain biz.  (Hey, that guy on the right ... Never mind. It can't be.)
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​I'm telling ya -- 12 year old boys.
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And, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to eat produce produced using artisan designed body functions as a water feature, either.

"Tomato?"
"Uh, no thanks."
​"Carrot? Cucumber? Snap pea?"
​"Wouldn't you just rather go to 'Colonel Cluck' tonight?"

​Still, this might be nice, given proper placement and about a fifty foot mound of sculptured dirt. Provided, of course, that I can divert the Platte into it, and, deal with the flooding, and, cover the thing with greenery (let's see -- that would be about the number of seeds found in 2,382 Chia Pets).
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​But, as always, I can always rely on Mother Nature herself to provide -- even though I think she's still pissed off about the Klettke/Moody Estes Rocket cloud seeding experiments of 1967.  She tends to rain on everyone's yard in the neighborhood except mine, and, when she does hit mine, it's with hail the size of dwarf planets.
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But that's okay, because Trumly just brought the beer.

 
​We began last week's sojourn with the same picture, but here, it is merely to continue the story. Look at the second tree. See the stump right about in the middle of the picture? Well, the branch above it was the one that was causing most of the shading problems for The Garden Known as Nick last year.

So --

​I crawled up there again on the ladder today, convinced I was going to wind up as new material for the compost pile ("Hey, look! I found Dad's glasses, covered with lettuce!"), and started sawing away at it with my underdeveloped little arm. I got about halfway through it when the saw began to stick. I couldn't get around to the other side, so, I wrapped a rope around the branch, attached the hook to the back of the Jeep and gave her a yank.

​The Jeep was not amused. Eugene so rarely is amused. Then again, neither was the branch. It broke from the tree but not completely. Thinking I was just going to give it another tug, Furious George pointed out that the high test tow line that I had been using to pull out stumps for the past quarter century had spilt its farthings at about the half way point.

​That left me to climb back up the ladder and hack at the last strands before it came down.

​It had been such an adventure, that I looked at this huge pile of broken branch and basically said, "Screw it," that's enough for today. The branch can be cut up this weekend. And, with that in mind:

​GARDENING HACK #513: DON'T RUSH OUT TO THE GARDEN AND DO EVERYTHING ON THE FIRST WARM DAY IN MARCH. WAIT. USE YOUR PATIENCE AND SPREAD THE WEALTH THROUGHOUT THE SPRINGTIME. BESIDES, THERE ARE PLENTY OF GOOD SHOWS ON TV IN THE AFTERNOONS NOW. IT'S NOT LIKE THE OLD DAYS WHEN IT WAS ALL GAME SHOWS AND SOAP OPERAS. NOW, IT'S SITCOM RERUNS AND REALITY SHOWS ABOUT WIVES KILLING THEIR HUSBANDS AND BURYING HIM IN THE GARDEN SO SHE CAN BE WITH THE SAUCY NEIGHBOR KID.

​YEAH. THAT'LL MAKE YOUR AFTERNOON. AND BECKY WONDERS WHY I'M SO GRUMPY WHEN SHE GETS HOME FROM WORK.