Death of a Pyracantha

Sometimes a morning doesn’t work out exactly as planned. And this morning was one such occasion. This morning I thought would be a reading and baking morning. A polish my altar with beeswax morning (which, to be fair, I actually did do…bedobedo…). Instead, I found myself caught up in a bit of gardening rage.

By 8 a.m I was up the garden throwing balls around for Nell before being distracted into cutting back the evening primrose which went wild this year and was beginning to block the courtyard steps. And then I thought, whilst I am wielding the secateurs I’ll pop to the front of the house and tidy up Starlight Express which was starting to attack the postal delivery person. And whilst I was at the front of the house, I thought, I’d better tidy up the pyracantha, which was also being a bit wild.

This is a pyracantha. Not our actually pyracantha, but a pretty close look-a-likey. Ours is, I mean, was about six feet high by five feet wide by two feet deep. It is (was) very spiky.

I snipped a few bits off the pyracantha, attending to it in a light trim sort of way. And then I thought, why am I doing this? For eight years I have been viciously scratched by this shrub. It has shed all sorts of leafy, berry, flower debris all over the driveway, it gets all scritchetty against the kitchen window and I don’t even LIKE pyracanthas. I never have. The red mist of gardening descended ‘pon mine eyes.

Away with the lady secateurs and out with the gladiatorial heavy duty loppers. I was Gertrude Jekyll…and Mrs Hyde. Within half an hour the pyracantha was an ex-pyracantha and I now have a good sized bed in which to plant something far more inspiring and less dangerous. Not sure what, but I am thinking on it. I just need to remove the pyracantha stump by fair means or foul as I think it might prove somewhat resistant to giving up its roots.

I can’t believe I haven’t done this before now. Eight years spent looking after a shrub I didn’t like. What a waste.

I also made some hummus.

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