On Wednesdays the “landscapers” arrive to do their work in my community (Glen Oaks Ridge), and in the adjoining community (Glen Oaks Manor).
This means that Wednesdays are noisy. My ears are assailed with the sounds of grass mowers the size of tanks (I exaggerate), of edgers, of trimmers, of chain saws, of shrub trimmers, and of those ghastly gas (petrol) fuelled leaf blowers.
The bothersome noise continues from 8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m.
It is not very pleasant.
These dreaded noisy Wednesdays annoy me.
But they also remind me of more pleasant landscaping sounds.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurkett lived across the street from our home on Devon Road, Bristol, U.K. Their home was at the intersection of Devon Road and Stepney Road. It was a larger house than ours; with a big back garden which reached all the way back to the L.M.S. railway line. Mr. Hurkett intrigued and fascinated me because he often told me that he had been a tinker.
He was a keen gardener. He took care of a largish lawn, filled with little daisies.
On summer evenings I would hear the sounds of his mowing with and old fashioned rotary mower. “Click, Click, Click” and he went forward. “Click, Click, Click” as he drew the mower back. I remember it as a comforting sound.
Mr. Stacey lived two doors away. He was an Insurance Agent – which meant that he was “pretty important” in our neighbourhood. He had a little car - an Austin or a Morris – with a very shiny chromium radiator grill.
He and Mrs. Stacey had a long front yard. The walkway was flanked with rose bushes and with a privet hedge. The bushes and the hedge needed to be trimmed. Mr. Stacey did this with old-fashioned shears. “Clip, Clip, Clip” was the noise they made. It sounded so good.
At the risk of being deemed a Luddite, or of being sentimental, or of basking in inaccurate memories I assert that the “Click, Click, Click” of Mr. Hurkett’s lawn mower, and the “Clip, Clip, Clip” of Mr. Stacey’s shears were more comforting and gracious than the blaring noises of our local “landscapers”.