on new secateurs

Two new, one old faithful. And sunshine!

 

You know that line about turning into your mother? Well, I think I’m turning into my father. The weekend I hired the gnomes was bitterly cold, but I came home, donned a parka, and pottered about in the shed. I re-arranged my pruning tools and brooms, sorted thru a bucket that had collected bits of junk (old tights, plant tags, very old secateurs, a measuring vial). Then I moved into the vegie patch and pulled some weeds (a lot of nettle, possibly from the sheep poo) and assessed the placement of the gnomes — could I see them from the back door? More importantly, could they see and talk to one another?

Then sense hit me and I decided it was Too Cold To Be Outside. I needed a cup of tea to wrap my frozen hands around, and I went in.

My dad would have happily ignored the weather and continued pottering about in his shed or glasshouse (we like to ‘potter about’ in our family). Tough stuff, he is.

What prompted all this pottering were the new tools I’d bought (along with the gnomes). I can’t resist a hardware store and this was my first visit to the new super-mega-store across the way from me. There’s a smaller branch right next door to my work (I know, I'm very lucky) and I am a loyal and regular customer there, but this new outlet? Mind-blowingly vast. They hand out maps as you go in.

I thought I’d check out the dustpans — aisle 57. Fifty seven! I happily trawled thru towering shelves of things I had never seen before or knew anything about. But there were many men and women crouched down, intently considering one shiny metal thing against another; or standing hands on hips, looking upwards towards suspended other things. This was hardware mecca. It was monstrous, and it was wonderful.

I bought two dustpan-and-brush sets (one for indoor, one for out; both with that rubbery edge which means no dust escapes); bright, grippy pegs for my mother; yellow zucchini and purple pea seeds for dad (in the hope he will get them going and pass some seedlings on to me); and secateurs and a trowel for me.

I did not need new secateurs. Or a trowel. But these were so new! And shiny! And ah, the trowel, so solid in my hand. I hefted it a few times, I turned it and mimed digging. Then I squeezed and compared secateurs. I’d been lured into the garden tool aisle by the bright pink secateurs. The feminist in me says no to pink girl tools; the girly part of me says oooh — pink! To compensate, I bought a second pair which are heavier and a utilitarian dull grey; more your blokey no-nonsense pair, mate.

But ah, I love secateurs; come the warmer days, when I’m outside, I reach for my blunnies, sunhat and secateurs automatically — they’re part of getting dressed for work. I always have a pair in my hand or pocket, just in case something needs a snip or a trim.

So now I have six pairs of secateurs. I know! Much like lipsticks or shoes, one for every occasion, need or mood. Options!

But really, I blame that mega-hardware store. It made me buys dustpans, pegs, seeds, gnomes and two pairs of secateurs in one day.

I won’t be returning for a little while…

Where all the secateurs live