Looking out my Backdoor: Haircut day at mi casa

Rainy season has arrived early. Hooray! Hooray! Evening rains revive this parched mountain valley. Trees tilt their sombreros when I walk by.

When one hasn’t seen rain in nine months, the typical gestation period one might think, each raindrop is a birthing. A renewal. New life. Figuratively and literally.

And I laid claim to my Baby Rain, took credit for bringing it about all by myself. I’m human, OK? It may sound silly but it is the way I felt, wet, standing out in the rain, drenched by my baby, laughing.

Gardening is different here in central Mexico. Pruning plants to keep them within bounds is a constant chore, just less frequently necessary in the dry season. But knowing the rains are here leads to thinking, “We need to hack this stuff off now, stuff like the Plumbago hedge and the ferns.”

We, my garden man Leo and I, had let the Plumbago hedge along the entrance wall go to flower. This shrub dresses itself with a profusion of blue flowers. When the branches get rain-soaked, they fall over, blocking the walkway. When trimmed regularly, and this shrub grows out of bounds quickly, the plant makes a lovely green hedge.

I am rich with a hedge for Plumbago flowers in back and a greenery hedge in front.

Trimming the Plumbago led to hacking the potted ferns down to a flattop hairdo, led to whacking back the vigorous Wandering Jew, all of which grow like weeds on steroids; once planted, watch out!

“Everything is getting a haircut, Leo,” I said, clippers in hand while trimming one of my favorites, something like a cousin to asparagus fern. “I should go to town to have Lorena cut my hair too.”

My hair, born with a mind of its own, responds best to short, wash and wear cuts. I’ve been whacking it myself during the entire pandemic. Poor hair. But as my dad always said, “The difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is two weeks.” If only that were true. It worked for a couple years until my head got to the point I wanted to shave it and start fresh.

Leo said, “I drove my car today so I can take you to town if you want. Or I can ask Erika if she’ll cut your hair.”

Well, I didn’t know Erika cut hair. She’s a multi-talented woman. She’s got to do better than me. So I wrapped a towel around my neck and Erika pruned me in short order, pun intended, out in the courtyard between the Plumbago and the geraniums.

After Erika finished my hair, Leo and I continued pruning, whacking, weeding.

Sadly, we had a death in the family. There is a shrub with multi-colored leaves of such beauty to make you catch your breath. It grew here possibly 20 years or more. This winter, the poor thing struggled to keep any leaves, and, in naked humiliation, finally gave up. So Leo whacked, sawed and dug the skeleton out of the ground.

Pre-pandemia, I would have made a trip to Vivero Centro to buy a replacement plant. But for the past years, I’ve simply been splitting or moving around what I have on hand. I had been wondering where to put the hollyhocks I had planted in a bucket from seeds Michelle gave me. Well, here it is, a sunny spot, now vacant, perfect for hollyhocks. Thus proving (to me) my belief that to make room for the new, one has to clear out the old.

Gulp. That’s a grim thought. This “Old” got pruned today but when will she need to be dug out and replaced!

Whoa! That sounds severe. Hopefully I have a bunch more trimmings before The Master Gardener cuts me off at the roots! I’m having too much fun.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].