It's odd what you learn about your spouse when you start spending more
time with him. Our new life sees me spending 4 days in the
country and 3 in the city. This means that I spend about 100%
more time with Mr S than I used to do, so I have twice as many
opportunities to get under his feet than ever before.
After 24 years of marriage, I thought we had successfully negotiated
our respective territories. I know, for instance, that I am
forbidden from ever loading the dishwasher. (I was inconsolable
for weeks!) Evidently my bedmaking skills are deeply flawed, too.
On the other hand, although Mr S is a good cook, I am a seriously good cook, so in the kitchen, he defers to me.
A lifetime of apartment living meant that anything that grew was my
department. Dad was a market gardener, and when I was five I
starred in a film for the CSIRO on growing carrots, and on the basis of
this heritage, I've been the gardener responsible for pot plants.
Now that we have a block of land, Mr. S is having a power surge.
Suddenly he wants to grow vegetables - even worse, he wants to be in
charge of growing vegetables. Vegetables were never in my plans,
and suddenly I'm forced to fight for space.
I have always believed that Mr. S was born with a list in his
hand. He has elevated planning to an art form. Everything
he does is done exquisitely, and slowly. Me, I'm more of a big
picture girl. So the level of detail involved in this vegetable
garden is driving me nuts. It involves lots of graph paper,
rulers, a compass, mathematical formulas - all this, and he hasn't even
left the house.
Days later, plans in back pocket, he ventures out to begin staking out his claim.
And a very ambitious claim it is. About one third of the back
garden has been commandeered. Beds have been staked out, turf has
been removed, railway sleepers are being used to create raised
beds. Our electric mulcher is near meltdown, as every conceivable
leaf and twig from the spring pruning is re-cycled to create
mulch. Negotiations are under way for the delivery of topsoil.
My plans for an English-style cottage garden are clearly on hold.
I console myself by imagining his first crop of forked carrots, and
grub-infested tomatoes. He's an amateur I remind myself - he's
never been in a film about growing carrots.
I remember growing vegetables as a heart-breaking business. Pests
and diseases, too much rain, not enough rain, as far as I'm concerned,
farming is a job for the professionals.
But what if it works - there'll be no living with him. Given the
amount of preparation he's put in, he might just pull it off.
I've negotiated a knot garden for kitchen herbs, as a consolation
prize, so at least I'll be able to keep him under surveillance. I
thought working less would mean I'd get less competitive. Wonder
when that's going to kick in!
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Change of Life 
