So much fer the peace and qwiet of livin’ on a private island.

Come Monday in the ayem, The Widdow was still in recovry mode from oversellabratin’ at her big bash. All on a sudden theres a big commoshun whilst a barje full of heavy gear pulls up to the dock.

Seems she forgot thats the day the crew was comin’ to start in on her fanssy new garden.

So now theres 25 burley lads and even burleyer gals with a camp all set up at the foot of The Widdows big front yard.

And theres eqwipment the likes of such I never seen, unlest its puttin’ in a big new road.

By Wensday haff the yard was tore up like somethink from an old Oddy Murphy war pitchur.

Thats when The Widdow gets a change of heart about tryin’ to immolate the Butchered Gardens. Turns out the island ain’t got all that much top soil untill yer down to basic rock.

So the new plan is shes gonna put up the biggest rock garden this side of Niagra Falls.

Now Darrol I may not be all that smart when it comes to rocks, but I do know a thing or two about growin’ stuff. And I’m dang sure theres no garden in the world that can grow rocks.

Asides, when it comes to rocks and trees and things that take more’n a good strong back to move, to my of thinkin’ its best to leave ’em lay where the Good Lord flang ’em.

When I told The Widdow not to waist money doin’ what cant be done, she laffed and said “trust me Rodney, its gonna be jest fine”.

So now theres bull dosers and back hoes and loaders and packers and Bob cats and Jack hammers goin’ fit to beat the band all day and haff the nite. A feller can scarce hear hisself think, even if he was of a mind to.

There was somethink else came over on the barje. My Smart little car.

Y’see, Unkle Walt heard on the CBC theres gangs of hooligins goin’ around at nite tippin’ over cars like mine the way some folks useta tip over cows thats havin’ a little snooze whilst still on the hoof.

Without my nevermind, he set it up fer the garden crew to fetch my little unit when they brang there gear. Of coarse they did’nt have a key, but it took jest four of ’em to hoist the thing on board.

All of this comin’ and goin’ has got Bruce the gardners nose all out of twist. He says The Widdow cant expeckt one man to tend to somethink the size of the Hangin’ Gardens of Babbalon.

But all she says is “Bruce, we’ll cross that bridge once its bilt.”

So now hes took to wanderin’ in the woods fer a sulk most afternoons. I ain’t sure where or what he does, but I’ll keep an eye out and let you know.

Yer pal,