This year will be my fifth season playing golf, the fourth for my wife. Many of my friends suffer the complaints from their spouses as a result of spending weekends away from the family on the golf course or justifying mysterious credit card charges at Golf Town. I don’t have those problems. Oddly, mine is the opposite: do you want to go to the driving range? let’s go to golf town? Buying, practicing and playing all take time; time formerly spent in the garden.
Over the years, my garden had been a source of much satisfaction. In the summer it was an outdoor living room. Tending the garden wasn’t a chore, but rather an artistic expression in four dimensions.
But over the last few years the neglect has impacted to the point where the back lawn died and was replaced by “wild flowers.” In response to the neighbour’s observations on the matter I reported to them that I was planning on growing truffles; the pigs are coming next week. No sense of humour.
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