Doing battle.

For those of you unfamiliar with the names of various plants in your garden, the above is called a "barberry" bush.  I should like to start a petition to call it the "barbarian" bush.

Working in the garden brings me immense pleasure and satisfaction, especially when pruning.  I exited the front door this morning, with the intention of pulling a few weeds and working on my tan for daughter   #3's wedding, a mere two weeks away.

After twenty minutes of pulling out the unwanteds, I found myself drawn to the rather large burberry bush which had decided to give up the ghost, so to speak, and had become mostly bare branches.  Let me correct that - not totally bare, as in it still retained its tiny, prickly thorns.

Ever start a project and think, well, I'll just do a little for now and leave it for another day? That was my intention. But I couldn't seem to walk away.   The bush had grown taller than I and about four times my width across, so I knew it would take quite a long time to finish.  I kept snipping off branches, filling bucket after bucket, and completely ignoring the scratches that were now starting to spread up and down my arms.

Two hours later, I finally ran out of buckets and strength.  Oh, but what a feeling of complete satisfaction, when I stepped back and surveyed what I had done.  The difference was dramatic and opened up the surrounding space, making it look much more inviting.  It will take a stronger instrument than the hand clippers I used to complete the job.  But that will have to wait now because.....

While eating dinner this evening, the Englishman noticed the bumps and scratches I am now sporting,  He  informed me that I am not allowed to do any more gardening till after the wedding.  Oh dear.  I assured him I was not working anywhere near the poison ivy, which I have been known to have a violent reaction to.  But he pointed out that the current marks on my arms are not attractive, and I would be most upset to have to look back at the photos from the wedding with me looking as though I'd been through the wars.

I hate it when he's right.

So I've put down my gardening gloves and will do as he suggests.  The spindly branches which remain standing will have to stay as they are until I can again take up my shears and go back into battle.