A reversal of roles ...
Cath’s eldest brother was a local GP in Tasmania and as such had to deal with a pretty diverse case load. He was a quiet person but a very deep thinker. Much of the subject matter of his contemplation stemmed from seeing patients whose primary ailment was not in fact physical but instead attributable to the socio-economic conditions in which they found themselves. One day we got to talking about marriage. He had read somewhere, and then verified by observation, that in many marriages the protagonists simply have the same conversation repeatedly. The subject matter on each occasion is of course completely different, but this seems to make no substantial difference because, broadly speaking, the same conversation always ensues. I don’t think I was ever completely convinced by this premise, but the one thing I do know is that over the course of a marriage, comfortable roles emerge which just seem to fit well. For example, of the two of us I think it’s fair to say that Cath is mainly a creative force with great artistic vision, whereas I am generally a destroyer and supplier of manual labour. One of the great mysteries of life, however, is its capacity to surprise.
At the beginning of the week I decided that it was time to finish a project which has been ongoing for almost as long as we have been in residence in the Huon. You will recall the parlous state of the drainage around the shed (see “This water belongs in Mombassa …” and “Some sage advice …”). You will no doubt also remember that we had two magnificent water tanks installed to collect the shed roof water and some drainage put in at the front of the shed to stop ponding. The only remaining problem was an open “ag drain” in the narrow passage down the side of the shed that required a covering of 7mm gravel followed a topping of 20mm gravel. So I set to work on beautifying the passageway and felt highly delighted to be engaged in such a constructive and artistic endeavour.
Cath meanwhile was examining the front of the house, looking as though she was going to do a spot of painting. Imagine the shock when Pepper and I returned from a gravel-collecting trip to the landscaping depot and were confronted by a scene of complete destruction. Cath had attacked an offending platform and the stairs leading up to the deck with a sledgehammer and the damage was pretty impressive. I was completely lost for words; wanton demolition is usually my province. Even Pepper was completely bemused by this turn of events.
Despite the jolt of surprise and the mental reassessment of traditional roles, you will be relieved to hear that the status quo was soon re-established. Covering an open drain with gravel took 6 trips to the landscape supply depot and about 4.5 metric tons of gravel, all of which had to be shifted manually (the tractor bucket doesn’t fit into the trailer and in any case the passage way down the side of the shed is too narrow to allow access). The result of this epic feat of manual labour is exceedingly satisfying to behold.
Moreover, the remnants of Cath’s destroyed platform was soon removed and the ground covered in (you guessed it) gravel – requiring a 7th trailer-load of the stuff. The front of the house now looks tranquil and serene and today was made even more so by the procurement of 4 half wine barrels which when planted up will provide an elegant splash of colour along the wall.
We were just taking one final stroll around the garden this evening, before retiring for a well-earned beer, when Cath pointed at a pathway down the side of the house and causally let slip that it badly needed a topping of gravel. Perhaps I need to think about that conversation theory again ...
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