Gardening Inspirations (Sean/Karl chat)
Nov. 4th, 2005 08:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
horseboykarlAunt June let me wallow for about three days, then she put me to work. I had no idea grapes were so labor intensive in the spring. After slogging through the early spring mud and wrestling grapevines all day, I usually fell into bed each night too tired to think about anything. Aunt June's famous cure to a broken heart . . . work your ass off.
But then she had kicked me out after two weeks, saying that my heart wasn’t broken, just my ego and to get the hell on with my life. Aunt June always favored a surgical strike as a method of healing wounds. So I left and came back here.
And it looks like I’ll be around Wellie the whole summer this year, so I can make some real plans for my garden. I had wanted to put in an herb garden to satisfy Eric’s gourmet skills, but fuck, I’m a decent cook and I decided I like the idea. So I’m doodling with some graph paper and books, trying to come up with a design. Because it seems that half of herbs isn’t so much what you grow as it is how you set the bloody thing up. All the pictures I’ve seen are formal layouts and they don’t seem to go with the half-wild nature of my property, so I’m working on something a little more free-form. Never was much of a fucking artist. Should see if Viggo or Paris would help me.
Shit, at least I can get the bed prepared anyway, save the planting for later. So I pull on a pair of old camos and my workboots and grab a shovel.
Sean: How is it that I can’t do this? Bloody garden. Have been kicking around ideas for days now, wondering what to do with the blank canvas of a lawn I own. Grass and trees and that’s pretty much it, and to begin with I was excited to start from scratch. Glad for it, even, looking forward to really getting down and doing it all myself, except I can’t bloody well get started.
Even called in a ‘professional’ to have a go, pitch out some ides. Eh. Underwhelming experience, that. Bloke wanted to rip up the patio, install one of those pissing cherub fountains. Said it’d ‘add a sense of aquatic adventure’ to the space. Christ, what a wanker.
Wellie is home now. I’ve chosen to live here in the midst of all the weird shite that goes on for some of us, and I suppose I just want to get this right, need to start settling in or I might start . . . regretting. And I’ve never been one for regrets -yeah just keep telling yourself that, bean- and I don’t want to start now.
Dave suggested I go see Karl, see if inspiration strikes. Rather, he told me to ‘quit whining’ and go see Karl. Uncalled for, that was. I don’t whine. Still, Davy’s been known to be right, on occasion, he claims Karl’s place is a little different from your usual formal garden. Tried ringing him but there was no answer, so it’s pure impulse that’s got me following Dave’s directions to Karl’s house. I’m hoping he won’t mind my dropping by unannounced. A bit late to wonder now, I think I see him. He’s looking my way, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand as I climb out of the car.
Walking across the grass to him I think back . . . we met a couple of times during the whole Rings insanity, but never hung out, really. Nice bloke, nice eyes, as I recall . . . maybe it’s weird, but that’s mainly what I remember about him. Those eyes are looking at me with curiosity now as I stop a short distance away.
Smiling, I hold out my hand. “Hi, mate. Remember me? Hope you don’t mind a visit.”
Karl: The day starts out cool, but by afternoon the sun starts getting around on me, and I’m sweating. I lean on the shovel, looking over the outline of turned-up dirt, trying to see if I see any sort of design popping out at me when the sound of a car on my drive pulls my head up. Most people don’t come down it by accident, I think Jay’s the only one who ever managed that, but fuck if I recognize the car. Ire pops his head up from his spot of sunshine on the porch and looks at it intently as if he’s planning on doing something about it.
“Don’t bother, you bloody useless mutt. Nobody ever died from getting licked to death.”
But I’m curious now too, so I drop the shovel and pull my gloves off, swiping a sleeve over my face to clean off some of the sweat. Then I wonder if I’ve still got sweat in my eyes, because the man getting out of the car is almost the last person I’d expect to see here at the bottom of the world.
“Bean?” I shake the hand you’re holding out, wondering what the fuck you’re doing in Zid. And then I grab Ire who seems intent on molesting your shoes. “Uh, it’s been awhile but I’ve not lost my wits completely, course I remember you.”
I stare at you, trying to remember the last time I saw you. Between me being gone so long, and you being back in England, or so I thought, it’s been years. But you look good, holding your own against time.
“Fuck, I don’t mind a visit. I had no idea you were around Wellie.” I smile at you, glad to see you again.
Sean: I reach down, giving your Ire a quick scratch behind the ear, laughing a little at the black tail beating against the grass. Straightening, I glance around before looking back at you.
“Actually, I’ve been around for a little while now. Looks as if I’ll be around more or less permanently from now on. Have just closed on a house a bit ago, just been working at getting settled in, you know. So, Wellie’s where I’m calling home, you might have to get used seeing more of me, then.”
I give you a quick grin before taking a good look at the surroundings, the land, the pond. It’s nice, I decide. Better than nice, really, and I tell you as much.
“You’ve got a brilliant spread here, Karl. Kind of . . . " I settle on the first word that comes to mind, “peaceful.”
Karl: I can’t help but wonder why a Brit with a thriving career at home would bother moving to Wellie, but the answer is probably that fucking bowl. We all seem to get pulled back here. And I’m not bringing up any alter-egos. I don’t know if you’ve been fully introduced to the madness, but I’m not gonna spark your curiosity. Ian already knew about the bloody thing.
“Welcome back to Zid then, mate. It’ll be good to see more of you.”
Your comments about my land make me take a look around, as though I’m looking at it for the first time the way you are. Peaceful? Is that what it is for me? It was my indulgence after Rings, but since then I’ve worked out a fair amount of pain and anger and grief tending this land. And I realise that’s what it’s given me back, that somehow I’ve finally found some peace.
“It is that, yeah.” I nod, then remember my manners. “Like something to drink? Got beer, or juice, or water. I don’t imagine you stumbled across me by accident, hardly anybody does that.”
Sean: “Beer sounds great, ta.” You motion me along with you to the house. Walking at your side I look around curiously, smiling as Ire comes with.
“Actually, Dave gave me the directions. I tried ringing a little earlier, didn’t get an answer so I thought I’d just stop by. I’ve been planning a garden for the new place, pretty much starting from scratch, you know, and I’m a bit stuck, I guess. Dave mentioned I might spark on some inspiration at getting a look at yours.”
As we draw close to the house I think all that sounded rather lame. I’m tired of staring at my empty lawn and I thought I’d come over a stare at your not empty one. After a moment I decide I don’t quite care if I did sound bloody well lame. What I said is true and besides, it's a nice day, the sun bright, and I would’ve come by to say hello sooner or later anyway.
“What’s the work in progress?” I ask, gesturing back to the bed you were preparing.
Karl: I hand you a bottle of Mac's Black, figuring a Yorkshireman would appreciate the dark brew. I grab some of the books I was looking at, and gesture to the deck.
"Mind if we sit outside? I'm a bit grubby for the polite furniture." I crack my own bottle, another benefit of working so hard . . . no more alcohol induced nightmares. I spread my books and paper on the outdoor table and sit back in my chair. Sounds like we both could use some inspiration, so maybe two brains on our mutual problems will be better.
"Trying to make an herb garden, but all the books are so bloody formal, doesn't really go with the other things. So I was hoping that if I just started digging something would strike me."
I take a long pull. "So how much you gotta do on your place?"
Sean: “Pretty much the whole kit. Nothing there but grass and trees, the odd hedge . . . I’m beginning to think I should start small, maybe something just around the patio, then work out from there.”
I tip the beer bottle against my lips, hold the mouthful for a moment before swallowing, just enjoying the rich flavor. I consider telling you about my misadventure with the professional landscaper I’d brought in, then decide to keep that bit of nonsense all to myself. I lean back in my chair, savoring the sunlight warm on my face and the sweet fresh air.
“I’m not looking for anything too formal either, just something, I dunno, something’s that pleasing without being too prissy, you know?”
I take another pull on my beer. Leaning up I snag one of your books on the table and open it. Leafing through the pages I pause at a big color photograph that catches my eye.
“I kind of like the looks of this as far as the herbs are laid out . . . except you’re right, a little too formal. Maybe if you didn’t keep the paths quite so structured, have them wander about, random like, instead of keeping to a set pattern.”
I turn the book so you can see the picture. “I may have to steal your idea, mate. Hadn’t thought about an herb garden but I rather like these.” It occurs to me to wonder whether you’re doing the garden for practical use and not just for pleasure.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those gourmet blokes too picky to buy his herbs from the market like everybody else.” I give you a wide grin before taking another long pull on my beer.
Karl: I snort. "A gourmet bloke? What do I look like?" And then I remember that you don't know me all that well, I had forgotten, sitting here easy with you like this.
But you don't need to hear the whole sorry ass tale of my love life, so I shrug casually. "I grew up on a farm so I usually put in a pretty fair-sized vegetable patch, I like to eat things I've grown. I just like the idea of having the herbs, plus I think I was reading somewhere that they can control bugs in the rest of the garden."
I pull the book to me to look at what you're talking about. "I see what you mean about this, yeah. Might work. I'll just have it sliding down that slope instead of flat too."
I think about what you said that you wanted and I say hesitantly, because England's gardens are famous. "If you've got trees then that's half the battle. Maybe what you want is Kiwi plants, yeah? Natives, I mean. That's what most of mine are. Don't know if you want them quite as unrestrained as here. But they'd probably be less trouble in the long run."
Sean: I’m busy envisioning your herbs spilling down the slope when you mention Kiwi plants and I’m suddenly reminded of the weeks I’d spent working on a Kiwifruit farm some time before I finally returned to Wellington. I’m also reminded of some things I’d gotten up during those days that had nothing to do with either work or Kiwi’s, and it’s a bit of a shock at how fast the memories flood over me.
“You know I actually worked on a Kiwi farm near Katikati for a couple of weeks a while back.” I’m not sure why I’m volunteering this information, though I am sure that I am not going to blush like a school lad in front of you because of a certain few memories you inadvertently brought to mind. I’ve not thought about those days in ages and I wonder if you’ll ask me about it. There’s not much to tell . . . well, at least not much to tell about the Kiwi farm.
“That’s a brilliant idea, though. Hadn’t even thought about Kiwi’s at all.” I smile at you to let you know that I really do appreciate your input, and wouldn’t mind it if there’s more.
“I’ve been gardening for years, doesn’t mean I actually know what I’m doing. But don’t tell anyone I let on, yeah?”
Karl: I'm having a hard time picturing you working on a farm. Doesn't really fit what I though I knew about you. You seem very . . . I dunno, sophisticated or some rot. Definitely not a farm boy. Fuck, apparently I don't know anything.
So I try to keep the surprise off my face. "Glad my aunt didn't think about trying that. But no, what I meant was plants that are native to New Zealand, not Kiwi fruit plants, although I guess you could do them."
I look at you more carefully, wishing I knew you well enough to pry, cause my questions are piling up. You look cool and pulled-together, not a dirty sweaty mess like me. Ah, fuck it, I'll just channel Dave for a bit.
"Look, you can slap me down if I'm being a nosy git, but I just can't feature you working on a farm. And Kiwi fruit is hard work. Why would you . . . ?"
Sean: I nod, realizing what you meant about the Kiwi plants, then smile at your curiosity at me working on a Kiwi farm.
“What, don’t I seem like the type of bloke that likes getting his hands dirty,” I tease, then a little more seriously, “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I ended up there.” I laugh a little at myself, glad that I can laugh about it now, if only just a bit.
“I don’t mind you asking, not like it’s a secret or anything . . . I was working some things out, things that I couldn’t be here for, or back home. I wasn’t on the farm very long, but it was, well fun isn’t it exactly, but it was good for me at the time.”
I’m hedging a bit, suddenly kicking myself for not having asked Dave just how much you know about the bowl and the shifts. I decide that it’s safe enough to add, “I really was working out whether I wanted to live here, permanent, or go back to England. Took me a while, but well, here I am.”
Karl: Well, that's . . . a really weird coincidence. I raise my bottle to you in a toast. "To farming. I do the exact same thing when the shit gets to be too much. My aunt has a farm up Hastings way. Used to be sheep farm, but she's turned it into a vineyard. I go up there any time I need to get my head sorted. She works me so hard I don't have the energy to think and then things come clear without my trying too hard."
My fingers fiddle with my bottle and I stare over the pond, wondering what to say to you. I still have a fucking hard time believing that someone like you would settle permanently in Zid without the supernatural influence of that fucking bowl. Much as I'm proud to be a Kiwi, let's be honest, Zid's a bloody ackwater. I try to remember, but I don't think you and I have been in the country at the same time since filming, so I don't know if you shift. Viggo's never mentioned it. Viggo . . . and Orli . . . and Hugo . . . and . . . . Shit.
My voice is pitched low, as I'm realising that we're all fucked. "It's never going to let us go."
Sean: I suppose I could pretend I don’t know what you’re on about. Could probably do it rather easily as there’s still a part of me that would like to pretend, but there’s a quiet finality in your voice and of course I can’t sit here and respond to it with anything but honesty. Sitting my bottle on the table I watch you for a moment, wondering if I’m mistaken but knowing I’m not.
“You too, then? I wondered. Dave didn’t mention if you knew about the bowl and I didn’t think to ask.” You don’t say anything and I feel a sense of sadness in you, almost as if . . . I’m not sure what, but if that bloody bowl’s involved I can only guess. You’re still staring off into the middle distance and I watch you a moment, studying your profile before finally looking away too, out over the green grass.
“I like to tell myself that I chose to come here. I tell myself that it’s the right choice, and if it turns out otherwise I can just leave. I tell myself that my life isn’t being dictated to me by all this weird shite.”
I look back to you, relaxing back in my chair, not having noticed until just this instant that I’d tensed. “That’s what I tell myself. Most days I believe it.”
It’s the first time I’ve said those words aloud to anyone, though they’ve been in my head often enough. They’re the root of what still worries me and I should probably wonder at the fact that I’m telling them to you, who I barely know. Instead I smile a little and shrug. “Maybe I’m just bloody well brilliant at lying to meself. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Karl: Ah, you have Boromir then. Wonder what living with him is like. I think about Ian and the choice I tried to give him, to walk away and not get sucked in. But I’m not going to feel guilty over him. Ian made his decision and me telling him the truth just made sure that he knew what he was doing when he decided to jump in it anyway. And I know, that if Éomer ever asked me his fate, I wouldn’t lie to him.
“Choice. That’s the thing it’s down to for me. That we can’t choose . . . that strikes at the heart of me and that’s what I have such a hard time accepting. I fought blondie long and hard over it until we finally compromised.” It’s not worth repeating the sorry tale of our battles. I can only hope that you and Boromir have a better relationship.
“I’m sorry.” I turn back to you, a nice man sitting here drinking beer with me who doesn’t need my shit. “This is a fucking depressing subject. Plants, now there’s something to give a man hope.”
Sean: “Hey, we all need an ear now and again, don’t worry about it.” Pausing, I wonder if what I’m about to say will seem odd, seeing as we don’t know one another terribly well.
“And, um, looks like I’m going to be around so my door’s always open, all right?”
I wonder what you’ll make of the offer but it’s laid out now and there’s no taking it back. Anyway, I’m enjoying your company, and I owe you for letting me prod you for gardening ideas. It’s nice to have someone about who shares that particular interest.
“Aye, plants are rather hopeful things, aren’t they? Except indoor plants, I’m shite with them. I’m beginning to think they’re offing themselves while I sleep, damn things never make it beyond a couple of weeks with me.”
Snagging my bottle off the table I take a sip, not too certain you, or anyone else, wants to hear me bitch about my demoralized indoor plants. My lack of skill with them is near embarrassing, and I bite back a laugh because it’s actually something I’ve thought about quite a bit. I’m thinking that I might be better off talking about Boromir. At least that would be interesting.
Karl: Your comments have me shaking with laughter and my mood lifts, the shit that sometimes swamps me pushed to the back of my mind where it belongs. I give you a grin, grateful for the offer and the humour. That's one thing about you that doesn't seem to make the press releases . . . your kindness. I don't think we've ever spent this much time with each other before, yet you give me that.
I'm still chuckling softly. "Yeah, never had much luck with houseplants either. I'm away too much. Ire comes with me and I can board my horse, but the plants . . . just die. I gave up on them a long time ago."
The book is still open to the photograph that drew your eye. I pull out a piece of grid paper and start sketching, thinking out loud as I go. "If I take out the center part, takes away the formality. Then I could let the path follow the contour of the hill. There."
"Listen, you've been a huge help. You want me to come by sometime and see what you've got?" I'm not sure you want me interfering that much, but I'd enjoy it and you've been extremely nice to me.
Sean: “I’d like that,” I say, smiling, and I do like it. I definitely don’t mind having a second opinion and I rather like having someone to chat with about something I genuinely enjoy doing. I get a look at your eyes and think that the seriousness there of moments ago has eased somewhat. Honestly, it was good to hear you laugh, to see that you seem a little . . . lighter, and I’m a bit pleased with myself for having managed to bring that about.
“I’m pretty much just taking it easy right now, concentrating on getting the house and the grounds broken in, don’t have any work upcoming for a while yet, so, anytime you’d like to pop over just give us a ring, all right?”
I make a mental note to give you directions to the house before I leave. Glancing down at your sketch, I pick up the paper, looking between it and the slope you’ve picked out to do battle with.
“You know, I think you’ve really got it. When everything grows in it’ll look brilliant, mate.” Arching an eyebrow I’m compelled to add, “You do realize that I’m going to have to hit you up for fresh herbs, right?”
Karl: I smirk at you. “You can have all the herbs you want, mate, as long as you’re willing to take my cucumbers when I’m over run with them. You’ll be sorry you ever met me and be cursing my name.”
I mentally review my schedule for the next few weeks, wishing I didn’t have to fly down to the South Island tomorrow, because suddenly I’m really curious about your place.
“I’m filming at the moment, believe it or not. I managed to finagle a part in a picture that’s shooting here for once. Quite a relief to be home after Vancouver and Russia and India. It’s a Viking-extraterrestrial extravaganza.” Right. Sounds like a bloody mess when I put it that way. I roll my eyes and shrug, knowing you’ve probably worked on plenty of projects that sounded ridiculous on paper. I hope the bloody thing does well. “But I’m skipping about the country here and there for the next few weeks and I don’t get here but every few days. I’ll call next time I get a break, yeah?”
Sean: I can’t help but laugh. “Viking-extraterrestrial extravaganza? Is that anything like a caravan-driving alien cowboy?” I’ve no idea if you’ve even seen The Big Empty but I figure you’ll ask if you want to know. By now I imagine we’ve both been around long enough not to be fazed by the oddities of roles.
“Well, good luck with the Viking, er, extraterrestrials. Certainly sounds as if it’ll be a little something different. And yeah, give me a call when you get a break.” I steal your pencil and jot down my home phone on an unmarked corner of your grid paper, scribbling down my mobile number as well. I’m expecting to be around home for at least the next week or so, but one never knows.
“I’ll have you know I’m going to hold you to that offer on the herbs.” Grinning I add, “And the cucumbers. I make a mean cucumber salad, mate.”
But then she had kicked me out after two weeks, saying that my heart wasn’t broken, just my ego and to get the hell on with my life. Aunt June always favored a surgical strike as a method of healing wounds. So I left and came back here.
And it looks like I’ll be around Wellie the whole summer this year, so I can make some real plans for my garden. I had wanted to put in an herb garden to satisfy Eric’s gourmet skills, but fuck, I’m a decent cook and I decided I like the idea. So I’m doodling with some graph paper and books, trying to come up with a design. Because it seems that half of herbs isn’t so much what you grow as it is how you set the bloody thing up. All the pictures I’ve seen are formal layouts and they don’t seem to go with the half-wild nature of my property, so I’m working on something a little more free-form. Never was much of a fucking artist. Should see if Viggo or Paris would help me.
Shit, at least I can get the bed prepared anyway, save the planting for later. So I pull on a pair of old camos and my workboots and grab a shovel.
Sean: How is it that I can’t do this? Bloody garden. Have been kicking around ideas for days now, wondering what to do with the blank canvas of a lawn I own. Grass and trees and that’s pretty much it, and to begin with I was excited to start from scratch. Glad for it, even, looking forward to really getting down and doing it all myself, except I can’t bloody well get started.
Even called in a ‘professional’ to have a go, pitch out some ides. Eh. Underwhelming experience, that. Bloke wanted to rip up the patio, install one of those pissing cherub fountains. Said it’d ‘add a sense of aquatic adventure’ to the space. Christ, what a wanker.
Wellie is home now. I’ve chosen to live here in the midst of all the weird shite that goes on for some of us, and I suppose I just want to get this right, need to start settling in or I might start . . . regretting. And I’ve never been one for regrets -yeah just keep telling yourself that, bean- and I don’t want to start now.
Dave suggested I go see Karl, see if inspiration strikes. Rather, he told me to ‘quit whining’ and go see Karl. Uncalled for, that was. I don’t whine. Still, Davy’s been known to be right, on occasion, he claims Karl’s place is a little different from your usual formal garden. Tried ringing him but there was no answer, so it’s pure impulse that’s got me following Dave’s directions to Karl’s house. I’m hoping he won’t mind my dropping by unannounced. A bit late to wonder now, I think I see him. He’s looking my way, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand as I climb out of the car.
Walking across the grass to him I think back . . . we met a couple of times during the whole Rings insanity, but never hung out, really. Nice bloke, nice eyes, as I recall . . . maybe it’s weird, but that’s mainly what I remember about him. Those eyes are looking at me with curiosity now as I stop a short distance away.
Smiling, I hold out my hand. “Hi, mate. Remember me? Hope you don’t mind a visit.”
Karl: The day starts out cool, but by afternoon the sun starts getting around on me, and I’m sweating. I lean on the shovel, looking over the outline of turned-up dirt, trying to see if I see any sort of design popping out at me when the sound of a car on my drive pulls my head up. Most people don’t come down it by accident, I think Jay’s the only one who ever managed that, but fuck if I recognize the car. Ire pops his head up from his spot of sunshine on the porch and looks at it intently as if he’s planning on doing something about it.
“Don’t bother, you bloody useless mutt. Nobody ever died from getting licked to death.”
But I’m curious now too, so I drop the shovel and pull my gloves off, swiping a sleeve over my face to clean off some of the sweat. Then I wonder if I’ve still got sweat in my eyes, because the man getting out of the car is almost the last person I’d expect to see here at the bottom of the world.
“Bean?” I shake the hand you’re holding out, wondering what the fuck you’re doing in Zid. And then I grab Ire who seems intent on molesting your shoes. “Uh, it’s been awhile but I’ve not lost my wits completely, course I remember you.”
I stare at you, trying to remember the last time I saw you. Between me being gone so long, and you being back in England, or so I thought, it’s been years. But you look good, holding your own against time.
“Fuck, I don’t mind a visit. I had no idea you were around Wellie.” I smile at you, glad to see you again.
Sean: I reach down, giving your Ire a quick scratch behind the ear, laughing a little at the black tail beating against the grass. Straightening, I glance around before looking back at you.
“Actually, I’ve been around for a little while now. Looks as if I’ll be around more or less permanently from now on. Have just closed on a house a bit ago, just been working at getting settled in, you know. So, Wellie’s where I’m calling home, you might have to get used seeing more of me, then.”
I give you a quick grin before taking a good look at the surroundings, the land, the pond. It’s nice, I decide. Better than nice, really, and I tell you as much.
“You’ve got a brilliant spread here, Karl. Kind of . . . " I settle on the first word that comes to mind, “peaceful.”
Karl: I can’t help but wonder why a Brit with a thriving career at home would bother moving to Wellie, but the answer is probably that fucking bowl. We all seem to get pulled back here. And I’m not bringing up any alter-egos. I don’t know if you’ve been fully introduced to the madness, but I’m not gonna spark your curiosity. Ian already knew about the bloody thing.
“Welcome back to Zid then, mate. It’ll be good to see more of you.”
Your comments about my land make me take a look around, as though I’m looking at it for the first time the way you are. Peaceful? Is that what it is for me? It was my indulgence after Rings, but since then I’ve worked out a fair amount of pain and anger and grief tending this land. And I realise that’s what it’s given me back, that somehow I’ve finally found some peace.
“It is that, yeah.” I nod, then remember my manners. “Like something to drink? Got beer, or juice, or water. I don’t imagine you stumbled across me by accident, hardly anybody does that.”
Sean: “Beer sounds great, ta.” You motion me along with you to the house. Walking at your side I look around curiously, smiling as Ire comes with.
“Actually, Dave gave me the directions. I tried ringing a little earlier, didn’t get an answer so I thought I’d just stop by. I’ve been planning a garden for the new place, pretty much starting from scratch, you know, and I’m a bit stuck, I guess. Dave mentioned I might spark on some inspiration at getting a look at yours.”
As we draw close to the house I think all that sounded rather lame. I’m tired of staring at my empty lawn and I thought I’d come over a stare at your not empty one. After a moment I decide I don’t quite care if I did sound bloody well lame. What I said is true and besides, it's a nice day, the sun bright, and I would’ve come by to say hello sooner or later anyway.
“What’s the work in progress?” I ask, gesturing back to the bed you were preparing.
Karl: I hand you a bottle of Mac's Black, figuring a Yorkshireman would appreciate the dark brew. I grab some of the books I was looking at, and gesture to the deck.
"Mind if we sit outside? I'm a bit grubby for the polite furniture." I crack my own bottle, another benefit of working so hard . . . no more alcohol induced nightmares. I spread my books and paper on the outdoor table and sit back in my chair. Sounds like we both could use some inspiration, so maybe two brains on our mutual problems will be better.
"Trying to make an herb garden, but all the books are so bloody formal, doesn't really go with the other things. So I was hoping that if I just started digging something would strike me."
I take a long pull. "So how much you gotta do on your place?"
Sean: “Pretty much the whole kit. Nothing there but grass and trees, the odd hedge . . . I’m beginning to think I should start small, maybe something just around the patio, then work out from there.”
I tip the beer bottle against my lips, hold the mouthful for a moment before swallowing, just enjoying the rich flavor. I consider telling you about my misadventure with the professional landscaper I’d brought in, then decide to keep that bit of nonsense all to myself. I lean back in my chair, savoring the sunlight warm on my face and the sweet fresh air.
“I’m not looking for anything too formal either, just something, I dunno, something’s that pleasing without being too prissy, you know?”
I take another pull on my beer. Leaning up I snag one of your books on the table and open it. Leafing through the pages I pause at a big color photograph that catches my eye.
“I kind of like the looks of this as far as the herbs are laid out . . . except you’re right, a little too formal. Maybe if you didn’t keep the paths quite so structured, have them wander about, random like, instead of keeping to a set pattern.”
I turn the book so you can see the picture. “I may have to steal your idea, mate. Hadn’t thought about an herb garden but I rather like these.” It occurs to me to wonder whether you’re doing the garden for practical use and not just for pleasure.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those gourmet blokes too picky to buy his herbs from the market like everybody else.” I give you a wide grin before taking another long pull on my beer.
Karl: I snort. "A gourmet bloke? What do I look like?" And then I remember that you don't know me all that well, I had forgotten, sitting here easy with you like this.
But you don't need to hear the whole sorry ass tale of my love life, so I shrug casually. "I grew up on a farm so I usually put in a pretty fair-sized vegetable patch, I like to eat things I've grown. I just like the idea of having the herbs, plus I think I was reading somewhere that they can control bugs in the rest of the garden."
I pull the book to me to look at what you're talking about. "I see what you mean about this, yeah. Might work. I'll just have it sliding down that slope instead of flat too."
I think about what you said that you wanted and I say hesitantly, because England's gardens are famous. "If you've got trees then that's half the battle. Maybe what you want is Kiwi plants, yeah? Natives, I mean. That's what most of mine are. Don't know if you want them quite as unrestrained as here. But they'd probably be less trouble in the long run."
Sean: I’m busy envisioning your herbs spilling down the slope when you mention Kiwi plants and I’m suddenly reminded of the weeks I’d spent working on a Kiwifruit farm some time before I finally returned to Wellington. I’m also reminded of some things I’d gotten up during those days that had nothing to do with either work or Kiwi’s, and it’s a bit of a shock at how fast the memories flood over me.
“You know I actually worked on a Kiwi farm near Katikati for a couple of weeks a while back.” I’m not sure why I’m volunteering this information, though I am sure that I am not going to blush like a school lad in front of you because of a certain few memories you inadvertently brought to mind. I’ve not thought about those days in ages and I wonder if you’ll ask me about it. There’s not much to tell . . . well, at least not much to tell about the Kiwi farm.
“That’s a brilliant idea, though. Hadn’t even thought about Kiwi’s at all.” I smile at you to let you know that I really do appreciate your input, and wouldn’t mind it if there’s more.
“I’ve been gardening for years, doesn’t mean I actually know what I’m doing. But don’t tell anyone I let on, yeah?”
Karl: I'm having a hard time picturing you working on a farm. Doesn't really fit what I though I knew about you. You seem very . . . I dunno, sophisticated or some rot. Definitely not a farm boy. Fuck, apparently I don't know anything.
So I try to keep the surprise off my face. "Glad my aunt didn't think about trying that. But no, what I meant was plants that are native to New Zealand, not Kiwi fruit plants, although I guess you could do them."
I look at you more carefully, wishing I knew you well enough to pry, cause my questions are piling up. You look cool and pulled-together, not a dirty sweaty mess like me. Ah, fuck it, I'll just channel Dave for a bit.
"Look, you can slap me down if I'm being a nosy git, but I just can't feature you working on a farm. And Kiwi fruit is hard work. Why would you . . . ?"
Sean: I nod, realizing what you meant about the Kiwi plants, then smile at your curiosity at me working on a Kiwi farm.
“What, don’t I seem like the type of bloke that likes getting his hands dirty,” I tease, then a little more seriously, “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I ended up there.” I laugh a little at myself, glad that I can laugh about it now, if only just a bit.
“I don’t mind you asking, not like it’s a secret or anything . . . I was working some things out, things that I couldn’t be here for, or back home. I wasn’t on the farm very long, but it was, well fun isn’t it exactly, but it was good for me at the time.”
I’m hedging a bit, suddenly kicking myself for not having asked Dave just how much you know about the bowl and the shifts. I decide that it’s safe enough to add, “I really was working out whether I wanted to live here, permanent, or go back to England. Took me a while, but well, here I am.”
Karl: Well, that's . . . a really weird coincidence. I raise my bottle to you in a toast. "To farming. I do the exact same thing when the shit gets to be too much. My aunt has a farm up Hastings way. Used to be sheep farm, but she's turned it into a vineyard. I go up there any time I need to get my head sorted. She works me so hard I don't have the energy to think and then things come clear without my trying too hard."
My fingers fiddle with my bottle and I stare over the pond, wondering what to say to you. I still have a fucking hard time believing that someone like you would settle permanently in Zid without the supernatural influence of that fucking bowl. Much as I'm proud to be a Kiwi, let's be honest, Zid's a bloody ackwater. I try to remember, but I don't think you and I have been in the country at the same time since filming, so I don't know if you shift. Viggo's never mentioned it. Viggo . . . and Orli . . . and Hugo . . . and . . . . Shit.
My voice is pitched low, as I'm realising that we're all fucked. "It's never going to let us go."
Sean: I suppose I could pretend I don’t know what you’re on about. Could probably do it rather easily as there’s still a part of me that would like to pretend, but there’s a quiet finality in your voice and of course I can’t sit here and respond to it with anything but honesty. Sitting my bottle on the table I watch you for a moment, wondering if I’m mistaken but knowing I’m not.
“You too, then? I wondered. Dave didn’t mention if you knew about the bowl and I didn’t think to ask.” You don’t say anything and I feel a sense of sadness in you, almost as if . . . I’m not sure what, but if that bloody bowl’s involved I can only guess. You’re still staring off into the middle distance and I watch you a moment, studying your profile before finally looking away too, out over the green grass.
“I like to tell myself that I chose to come here. I tell myself that it’s the right choice, and if it turns out otherwise I can just leave. I tell myself that my life isn’t being dictated to me by all this weird shite.”
I look back to you, relaxing back in my chair, not having noticed until just this instant that I’d tensed. “That’s what I tell myself. Most days I believe it.”
It’s the first time I’ve said those words aloud to anyone, though they’ve been in my head often enough. They’re the root of what still worries me and I should probably wonder at the fact that I’m telling them to you, who I barely know. Instead I smile a little and shrug. “Maybe I’m just bloody well brilliant at lying to meself. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Karl: Ah, you have Boromir then. Wonder what living with him is like. I think about Ian and the choice I tried to give him, to walk away and not get sucked in. But I’m not going to feel guilty over him. Ian made his decision and me telling him the truth just made sure that he knew what he was doing when he decided to jump in it anyway. And I know, that if Éomer ever asked me his fate, I wouldn’t lie to him.
“Choice. That’s the thing it’s down to for me. That we can’t choose . . . that strikes at the heart of me and that’s what I have such a hard time accepting. I fought blondie long and hard over it until we finally compromised.” It’s not worth repeating the sorry tale of our battles. I can only hope that you and Boromir have a better relationship.
“I’m sorry.” I turn back to you, a nice man sitting here drinking beer with me who doesn’t need my shit. “This is a fucking depressing subject. Plants, now there’s something to give a man hope.”
Sean: “Hey, we all need an ear now and again, don’t worry about it.” Pausing, I wonder if what I’m about to say will seem odd, seeing as we don’t know one another terribly well.
“And, um, looks like I’m going to be around so my door’s always open, all right?”
I wonder what you’ll make of the offer but it’s laid out now and there’s no taking it back. Anyway, I’m enjoying your company, and I owe you for letting me prod you for gardening ideas. It’s nice to have someone about who shares that particular interest.
“Aye, plants are rather hopeful things, aren’t they? Except indoor plants, I’m shite with them. I’m beginning to think they’re offing themselves while I sleep, damn things never make it beyond a couple of weeks with me.”
Snagging my bottle off the table I take a sip, not too certain you, or anyone else, wants to hear me bitch about my demoralized indoor plants. My lack of skill with them is near embarrassing, and I bite back a laugh because it’s actually something I’ve thought about quite a bit. I’m thinking that I might be better off talking about Boromir. At least that would be interesting.
Karl: Your comments have me shaking with laughter and my mood lifts, the shit that sometimes swamps me pushed to the back of my mind where it belongs. I give you a grin, grateful for the offer and the humour. That's one thing about you that doesn't seem to make the press releases . . . your kindness. I don't think we've ever spent this much time with each other before, yet you give me that.
I'm still chuckling softly. "Yeah, never had much luck with houseplants either. I'm away too much. Ire comes with me and I can board my horse, but the plants . . . just die. I gave up on them a long time ago."
The book is still open to the photograph that drew your eye. I pull out a piece of grid paper and start sketching, thinking out loud as I go. "If I take out the center part, takes away the formality. Then I could let the path follow the contour of the hill. There."
"Listen, you've been a huge help. You want me to come by sometime and see what you've got?" I'm not sure you want me interfering that much, but I'd enjoy it and you've been extremely nice to me.
Sean: “I’d like that,” I say, smiling, and I do like it. I definitely don’t mind having a second opinion and I rather like having someone to chat with about something I genuinely enjoy doing. I get a look at your eyes and think that the seriousness there of moments ago has eased somewhat. Honestly, it was good to hear you laugh, to see that you seem a little . . . lighter, and I’m a bit pleased with myself for having managed to bring that about.
“I’m pretty much just taking it easy right now, concentrating on getting the house and the grounds broken in, don’t have any work upcoming for a while yet, so, anytime you’d like to pop over just give us a ring, all right?”
I make a mental note to give you directions to the house before I leave. Glancing down at your sketch, I pick up the paper, looking between it and the slope you’ve picked out to do battle with.
“You know, I think you’ve really got it. When everything grows in it’ll look brilliant, mate.” Arching an eyebrow I’m compelled to add, “You do realize that I’m going to have to hit you up for fresh herbs, right?”
Karl: I smirk at you. “You can have all the herbs you want, mate, as long as you’re willing to take my cucumbers when I’m over run with them. You’ll be sorry you ever met me and be cursing my name.”
I mentally review my schedule for the next few weeks, wishing I didn’t have to fly down to the South Island tomorrow, because suddenly I’m really curious about your place.
“I’m filming at the moment, believe it or not. I managed to finagle a part in a picture that’s shooting here for once. Quite a relief to be home after Vancouver and Russia and India. It’s a Viking-extraterrestrial extravaganza.” Right. Sounds like a bloody mess when I put it that way. I roll my eyes and shrug, knowing you’ve probably worked on plenty of projects that sounded ridiculous on paper. I hope the bloody thing does well. “But I’m skipping about the country here and there for the next few weeks and I don’t get here but every few days. I’ll call next time I get a break, yeah?”
Sean: I can’t help but laugh. “Viking-extraterrestrial extravaganza? Is that anything like a caravan-driving alien cowboy?” I’ve no idea if you’ve even seen The Big Empty but I figure you’ll ask if you want to know. By now I imagine we’ve both been around long enough not to be fazed by the oddities of roles.
“Well, good luck with the Viking, er, extraterrestrials. Certainly sounds as if it’ll be a little something different. And yeah, give me a call when you get a break.” I steal your pencil and jot down my home phone on an unmarked corner of your grid paper, scribbling down my mobile number as well. I’m expecting to be around home for at least the next week or so, but one never knows.
“I’ll have you know I’m going to hold you to that offer on the herbs.” Grinning I add, “And the cucumbers. I make a mean cucumber salad, mate.”
