The Country Mice

They confer, they wander, they ponder, they dig.

Looking down to the road from the house

The lovely and gentle Wynn and Bob.

Both artists in so many ways.

Here, they confer: Keep or go? Whack or reserve? Can you do this?

And Bob always can.

Same view, different angle; looking from house toward road

Bob wanders. He’s going to take off the left arm of that maple tree in the centre. It seems scandalous at the time but unbeknownst to me, the brilliant Wynn has a vision: The removal of that arm along with a couple of poorly placed cotoneasters will reveal a stunning moss-covered bluff — shades of green you didn’t know existed.

Pondering.

The Princess has caught me in an apparent moment of grim concern.

Note to self: Relax.

Same view as the first two pics

Whew! That was fast!

Bob has scraped up the thin topsoil (I am so sorry, Mrs. English; I know you loved your grass), pulled up some errant roots tentacling their way across the flat ground (Not to worry, says Wynn. These trees have roots wandering in every direction) and stacks some rocks that came up the road in an earlier truck load.

The rocks will form terraced walls to contain the soil on the sloped lawn garden.

And a potted fig tree we hauled back from King Township, adorned with a tin of goldfish food.

The truth: Soil is such a rare commodity on this island rock. This lush stuff was hauled in from deeper pastures. Seems counter to the grand scheme of the planet but I guess if you bring in bananas from far off lands you can bring in dirt from nearby fields.

I heard a story when I first arrived on Bowen. Seems the grand prize for some contest was awarded here and the winner, not an island resident, was a tad nonplussed.

“A truckload of dirt? That’s first prize?!”

Might be urban legend but it’s a good one.

Need some two-year-olds around to truly appreciate the Big Twucks!

Love these guys. Always smiling.

Time to play!