This Week in Lincolnville: Bearing Down on Eighty
. . . counting, counting, counting Mon, 05/03/2021 - 11:30am
Steve Hardy boning the pork shoulders that will become delicious pulled pork.
Photos by Char Dickens
A Mimosa helped with the baked beans.
A couple of old-timers waiting for the ribs to be done.
. . .5, 6, 7 . . .
Counting starts early these days, first thing, after letting Fritz out to pee. Back to the bedroom where the exercise stuff is set up. Don’t be thinking Peloton or free weights; more like a rolled-up towel, a rubber beach ball, a leather belt, a green stretch strap. It’s the last week of my physical therapy program before knee surgery.
You can’t dig it up as it sends runners everywhere underground, two to eighteen inches deep, under rocks, amongst tree and shrub roots, tangled in your peony tubers and strangling any other perennials it encounters.
Rumor has it that gardeners have sold their houses and moved to get away from it. I’ve chosen to live with it. Every spring as it begins its annual migration through the garden I gird myself for battle and tackle the Front, the line beyond which I won’t let it go. Looking at my house from the road, the garden in front of the sun room, full of tulips in the spring, is goutweed-free. The bed to the left belongs to Him, Mr. Goutweed. I’ll never get him out of there.