Oh no all my high school maths problems come back to haunt me.
According to my learner guide, I now have to figure out how to work out how much N, P and K is in a 23 kilogram bag of fertiliser with the fertiliser analysis numbers of 10-6-4. Please lightning strike so I don't have to work this out.
As far as I know if you mulch with peas you return nitrogen to the soil, scrape your bbq ashes gives you potassium, and phosphorus, well was it banana skins or was that in seaweed. I forget. Or maybe worm wee. Then it says I have to get a lab test to find out the nutrient content in a tree's soil and leaves. Science schmience. Feeding plants used to be so simple you just gave them compost and manure. Now it's all fancy labels and packaging and special diets, like they are on Weight Watchers or something.
The last time I had a lab test the doctor said I had high cholestrol so that means I can't eat any meat pies, and no cheese or chocolate either. Well not that I can't, but it might not be a good idea to die of a heart attack in the middle of mowing someone else's lawn. I wonder if trees get a similar diagnosis, eating too much junk food what with all the plastic weedmat people have been mulching them with. I had been following the contractors diet of bakery food which is nothing but junk and they always ask if you want a plastic bag with it. What so I can kill everything living in the ocean, and not just myself?
Another thing that I'm trying to ignore is the nagging feeling that someone has mowed over the church proteas and leucodendrons. I went past last week, a drive by, and could not see them, just freshly cut grass. I don't want to go back to that church now. It will break my heart.
Gardening in a man's world sometimes makes me want to run away and cry. I was harangued the other day after checking my work to make sure, yes, I have planted everything in the right spot and not left any weeds. My workmate had a go at me and said I was acting like a dimwit staring at the garden. Well excuse me for standing still for one minute and THINKING we can't all be like you. Oh don't give me that attitude. Before this escalated into a fighting match where I could have chucked mud at him, and told him stop being a dick for cursing everyone under the sun for not being a turbo charged machine like he was. But, why should someone have to be told to stop being a dick? Why can't you just....NOT be one?
I don't work for you, for the residents, for the company or the CEO with the wallet who owns it all ok. I'm working for the plants. If they are happy, I am happy. If they are not, I am not. Is that clear?
Maybe men just don't get it. I did ask God about this once, and He just said He made men thick.
