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| My darling junipers, after my beating |
Well,
it took winter long enough to arrive, and let loose when she did. My local
library cancelled their “Pride and Prejudice” book talk two consecutive
Wednesday nights due to icy roads. Then, somehow, this past Wednesday night, I
missed the discussion.
“P&P’, as Jane Austen fans say,
first enchanted me in 1967 when Miss Liennemann, my senior year English
teacher, included the classic in our syllabus.
I’m eternally grateful for the assignment
that influenced my reading and writing life more so than “Kon-Tiki” and “Great
Expectations.” I enjoyed Thor Heyerdahl’s adventure on his raft with a team of sailors—and
Dickens’ boy, Pip, coming of age in nineteenth-century London. Yet, they don’t
call my name as does Jane Austen.
Perhaps it’s due to an investment I
made years ago. A fellow reader and writer led me to a collection of antique
copies of Austen’s work. I spent every discretionary dollar in my possession to
purchase the treasure. Miss Austen’s seven stories in ten volumes rest under a
glass dome until she calls my name.
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| My antique collection of Jane Austen's novels |
You’d think wintertime ideal for
holding one of Austen’s brittle, faded, green bindings. I did, too. Instead, I’ve
been beating bushes.
Literally. That’s what happens when
I fail to protect my ornamental junipers and boxwoods from heavy snowfall. The
most efficient and merciful relief for shrubs and trees in snow distress is to grip
the handle of a sturdy broom. Then trudge through snowdrifts and beat sagging branches
laden with snow.
This exercise began with the
junipers, two darlings planted beside each other nineteen years ago in my
upper, backyard garden. The tall, thin shrub barely reached my knees back then.
Now, I cannot touch its top. The other juniper I’ve trimmed into the shape of
an umbrella. The two stand as inseparable attractions, no matter the season.
I whacked the broom on the bent
branches of the tall juniper, clumps of snow falling on me and the ground as
the branches sprang up. Easy-peasy.
The canopy of snow on the other
juniper also gladly fell under the beautiful, blue sky. Invigorated, I spied
our barrier of evergreens on the west side of the house, braches in the most
humbling posture I’ve seen in our thirty-three years on this homestead.
“Take that!” I said and beat the
branches with the broom. The boughs sprang up happily.
I bashed all the evergreens within
my reach and walked uphill and indoors for a cup of green Earl Grey tea, and
chocolate shortbread. Although beating bushes is great fun and exercise, I
noticed the bent branches of the tall juniper did not recover upright. I’d have
to tie the shrub together before the next snowfall, or risk damaged limbs.
Dear Reader, yesterday, I saw snow
in the forecast and at last secured the branches of the skinny shrub. Which
means I slept well last night and didn’t have to rescue my darling this morning.
Hmmm..is that “Emma” calling from
under Jane Austen’s glass dome? It’s been too long.
