Our house painter is an outstanding painter; unfortunately he’s a poor horticulturist. At least from his lack of respect for greenery I presume he’s untrained as a gardener; I’ve never actually seen his gardens. This doesn’t matter much when he’s painting the interior, but for exterior work it’s definitely a detriment.
His fastidiousness as a painter extends to the care he shows his employees. For instance, he doesn’t hire cheap labor that will climb unsteady ladders to dizzying heights uninsured. No, he has his father and other relatives working for him, and apparently he cares for all of them as he insists on renting (at our expense) a large cherry picker to reach the highest parts of the house. Okay, so I wouldn’t want to climb up a ladder to those heights either which is one of the reasons I chose not to paint the house myself.
The bright orange cherry picker comes with its own high pitched beep which is activated every time the arm supporting the basket is moved as we and all of our neighbors discovered at 6 am the first morning the painting began. Apparently the painters hold their paint brushes still while moving the basket slowly back and forth to paint. Consequently there is pretty much a continuous beeping echoing around our house.
As I come around the corner to our house, I do a double take. No, that isn’t a 10 ton vehicle parked on our lawn! Yes it is. Well, the painter must have mused, if the cherry picker worked so well above the driveway, it will work equally well on the opposite side—just need to drive it across the lawn. Here’s where his lack of a green thumb is most evident. Did he put down some planking to distribute the weight of the 10 ton vehicle? No, he just drove right over the curb, across the sidewalk, leaving deep welts in his wake, and right on across our beautiful lawn! And then he leaves it parked there overnight as he claims the wear and tear on the lawn will only be intensified if he drives off and on again (why not just drive off and stay off?!) Why can’t I stand up to my painter and tell him I don’t appreciate how he treats the greenery in my yard? Why does he intimidate me just because he knows so much about painting? This is ridiculous.
So instead of saying anything to him, I fume quietly to myself, okay and to my husband, about the deep welts that are now in the middle of our front lawn and will likely need reseeding come fall. Sigh. Yes the painting does look excellent—just don’t get the wide angle view that takes into account the lawn.
Next time he comes to paint I will disallow the cherry picker on my lawn—I will resolve to stand up for my lawn and my garden. I will. I will. I think I will. I hope I will. We’ll see.
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