POWER TOOLS
Last weekend I liberated myself from toil, cast aside romantic notions and joined the ranks of bona fide suburbanites. I used an electric hedge trimmer for the first time.
What compelled me to cross this domestic Rubicon? I finally realized that I was completely overmatched in my ongoing battle with the overgrown privet hedge that bounds my front yard on three sides.
When we moved into the house, we loved the hedge because it provided all the privacy of a fence at none of the cost. At least we thought so at the time. In reality, I pay handsomely every time the privet needs a haircut.
For the past eleven years I have done the trimming with a well-sharpened pair of hedge shears. This is a time-honored tradition that makes me think of my English ancestors, not to mention the many generations of estate gardeners who have labored in the service of perfect hedges.
Pruning my privet by hand was a slow, steady, contemplative process. It made me feel at one with nature and was so quiet that I could start in the morning while the neighbors were still asleep without fear of someone calling the police about the noise. And starting that early was a good idea, because doing the hedging all at once took all day. I never had a full day to devote to the chore, so for years I dealt with the large time commitment by shearing the privet in small increments of fifteen or twenty minutes each over the space of several weeks. The downside of this method was that by the time I finished the entire hedge, it was time to start all over again.
My husband has long disdained the hand clippers in favor of the electric hedge trimmer. But he is a man, and men seem to revel in power tools, so I ignored him. The problem is that he didn’t revel in the hedge trimmer often enough to keep the hedges under control. I sheared various parts of the hedge regularly, but the continuous efforts left me with very little time to work with my beds and borders. Resentment was taking root in my soul. People have divorced over less, but I decided that instead of either clipping constantly or nagging incessantly, I would try using the hedge trimmer.
I am not afraid of all power tools, having conquered that phobia years ago with the electric string trimmer. In fact, all I need is a long cord and I can take care of all the small spaces and sidewalk edges on the property in no time. I have changed the filament cartridge and cleaned the accumulated grass from the underside of the hood. When the old string trimmer gave up the ghost, I even picked out the new one by myself. The string trimmer and I get along well and when I wield it, I feel invincible. Besides, I grew up in a town where even the octogenarians used snow blowers and power mowers and at least twenty people on every block owned chainsaws. Intellectually I have always known that there is nothing to fear from the combination of yard tools and gas or electricity.
But I never liked those chainsaws and for my money, the hedge trimmer looked a bit too much like a chainsaw. I have also had rather poor balance since childhood and I am convinced that it’s a lot easier to maim yourself by combining a ladder and a power hedge trimmer than a ladder and a hand tool.
Still, the sight of my neglected flowerbeds moved me to action. I got out the trusty long cord, plucked up my courage and the hedge trimmer and headed for the privet. Fortunately the trimmer was easy to operate, because the directions disappeared years ago. I made the happy discovery that it had less recoil than a rifle and less ear-splitting noise than a leaf blower. After doing nothing but holding onto the revving trimmer for a few minutes, I felt that I could control it. I attacked the privet. The overgrown branches began melting away and much to my surprise I didn’t develop vertigo and fall off the ladder. Within twenty minutes I had finished a whole side of the hedge, something that would have taken me days of incremental work with the shears. I began to have dreams of using the trimmer to prune the hedge roses, abelia, lilacs and everything else on the property over two feet tall. I entertained the notion of sculpting topiaries in the front yard. Fortunately I only have one extra-long cord. If not for that, I probably would have taken on the whole neighborhood–even the barberry bushes and the long-haired high school boys who lounge down by the train trestle.
There is probably some kind of support group for people who are afraid of power tools. Happily, I won’t need it. A few more hedge trimming sessions and the power trimmer will be like an extension of my arm. Next fall, I may even think about a snow blower.