Today I’m spreading mulch, twelve cubic yards of deep red mulch, around the base of the trees on our property. That’s the equivalent of two truck loads. It’s an annual spring ritual for which some of my friends have declared me crazy behind my back.
Mike, our lawn care man, and I have done this together for the past few years. Sometimes, if pressured, Earl joins in; but I can tell he’s only making a guest appearance.
I don’t know what it is about spreading mulch, but I enjoy it. Maybe I am crazy, because I enjoy weeding too; while Mike tends to the more difficult planting, trimming, mowing, and fertilizing. Earl contributes most by writing checks.
When the mulch mucking is done, the trees look dressed and the redness of the mulch offsets the green of the grass. It’s rather dramatic. The red was Earl’s idea; he likes a lot of color. I wanted to settle for something more subtle, but Earl doesn’t do subtle. So two years ago I agreed we’d cover over the dark brown mulch that was my preference for the flag red mulch that is his. I’ve gotten used to it since then. I can even say I like it.
Which is a good thing because at the end of the day the red dye from the mulch is everywhere. That’s why I wear old boots, torn sweats, and rubber gloves. I look like a bag lady but the trees look elegant. Photos to come tomorrow.
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