It is a truth universally acknowledged that a retired man in possession of a good pension will eventually be in want of a greenhouse.
Of course you are, but even if you aren't, particularly, you're obliged to say, "Never busier!" because that puts most such interlocutors at their ease, and then you can get on with phase two, the expressions of envy, followed by the real conversation, which is about them.
But sometimes, maybe anticipating some lacuna in their own and future retirements, you'll be pressed on the point: "So what are you up to?"
And then you have to try to explain.
When I first retired, no problem. I could talk about writing projects, which are so obviously all-consuming that they're just like a real job. Especially if you've managed to publish a few times. Besides, this explanation merged seamlessly with the stereotypical retirement of anyone who has managed an entire career in the English-teaching trenches.
But then, before the first year was out, that phase ended, along with the need to talk about some of the things I'd learned in my career. And I wasn't planning to start a new career, or even to fill my days with either charitable or academic endeavours. I had papers and books to read, a dad to look after, and a dog to walk; I was going to retire, properly.
Normally, that would mean a good deal of gardening, but I'm an indifferent gardener. That is to say, I like our garden fine, and I don't want to annoy the neighbours needlessly. I'm willing to put some time and effort into garden maintenance, but I'm a long way from fanatical. My idea of landscaping is mostly rhododendrons, fruit trees, woodchips, a lawnmower, and some vegetables, while Sandy does flowers in pots and in a few designated areas.
Definitely not fanatical.
This was a fact noticed by our new neighbour. Shortly after he had moved in and was busily chopping the trees, planting the lawns, and having a concrete driveway complete with retaining wall built, he remarked that he found our yard "interesting", and (digging to the very bottom of his drawer of words one uses in the presence of someone who could easily have been one's English teacher) "eclectic".
Of course he was spot-on, and consequently we have been the best of neighbours ever since. I even got into the spirit a bit, and dug out the bamboo.
Clearly "gardening", in my case, doesn't cut it as an explanation of how I manage to fill my days and I had a dilemma.
Then, last spring, I saw a greenhouse in the catalogue.
It was not terribly expensive, and the photo in the catalogue was very promising, as was the text, a charming dissonance featuring words like "Victorian", "aluminum", and "polycarbonate".
So I ordered it.
It came promptly, in two boxes, one of which also contained excellent instructions. I could see immediately that I would have no particular trouble putting it up.
Did I mention I'm also an indifferent carpenter? Fortunately not so indifferent that I didn't know that the base would have to be both square and level. Consequently, I made it so. Then I drilled holes in that base, and pounded in rebar to anchor it securely into the glacial till which passes for soil where we live, because, particularly in winter, we also have Southeasters, to which this greenhouse would be fully exposed. I had no wish to be the author of the Flight of the Greenhouse.
Installation went relatively quickly and much as anticipated. When it was done, I moved a number of large containers planted with patio tomatoes into it, and provided a water supply. Let the growing begin!
Next morning, there were several panels on the ground, accompanied by their plastic "secure strips". Naturally, I assumed I hadn't gotten them in quite right, so undid the relevant nuts to loosen the frame a bit, replaced the panels, clicked in the strips, and secured the nuts.
Later that day, several other panels were on the ground.
You get the picture, and I don't want to bore with the details. Suffice it to say that over the next several months, as I tried the many "fixes" I had concocted in the middle of the night or that had been proposed to me by bemused observers, choice words were spoken on the subject of greenhouses designed in Israel, where obviously it doesn't get windy. Before long the whole saga was starting to remind me of a tent I'd owned in my youth, made by Taiwanese who had obviously seen pictures, but had never needed to shelter from the elements in one... Anyway, do Israelis even need greenhouses?
And then, after a recent wind storm, having collected more than half a dozen panels from the park across the road and as I was contemplating leaving the bare aluminum bones unclad until spring, I had a flash of inspiration: I remembered that in the basement I had a tube of polyurethane construction adhesive left over from another project. And I remembered that polyurethane glue isn't repelled by moisture; it likes it! Not only that, but it bonds to almost anything (my hands still bear the proof), can fill gaps, and sets up hard.
Definitely worth a try.
Flash forward a few weeks: we've had several real winds, the kind where every part of the house creaks. The greenhouse is still standing, hasn't lost even one panel.
I have every intention of filling it with tomatoes again next spring.
And when people want to know how I fill my days, I say "greenhouse", and that explains everything!
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