The Rural Voice, 2004-06, Page 6PRICE, SERVICE
& SATISFACTION
1999 JEEP GRAND
CHEROKEE LTD
V8, auto, completely loaded, heated
leather, memory seats, sunroof, CD,
cassette & much more, local trade,
111,000 kms. $18,900
2002 DODGE DURANGO
SLT + 4X4
7 passenger, V8, auto, moulded
boards, leather, etc. local trade.
$23,900
1996 FORD F150
Regular cab, 2WD, V8, stick,
with coloured cap, certified.
57,995
2001 DODGE RAM 2500
QUAD CAB
Diesel, auto, with jake brake, SLT
pkg., PW, PL, tot, local trade.
$28,900
HANOVER CHRYSLER
DODGE JEEP
664 -10th St.,
IIKISI K Hanover
.tea 1-866-788-8886
Phone: (519) 364-3570
2 THE RURAL VOICE
Carol Riemer
Sitting prettg in the garden
Carol Riemer
is a freelance
writer who
lives with her
husband and
two
children near
Grand
Valley,
Ontario.
Experts will say that one of the
best things about gardening is all the
exercise you get. Not to mention the
added benefits of fresh air, and that
exhilarating feeling of accom-
plishment.
While I agree that all these things
are enticing, my main motivation lies
in celebrating a job well done by
sitting on the deck, and simply
appreciating the fine view. That may
sound a little slothful, but after
working the good part of a Sunday,
hauling compost and edging gardens,
I think I deserve a rest.
Of course, finding a good chair on
which to relax is still a challenge. I
remember my parents' canvas and
wooden lawn chairs. A precursor of
the modern director's chair, they
tended to fold up without warning,
trapping unsuspecting guests in a
deadly vice grip.
When the aluminum age arrived at
our house, it was accompanied by
chairs with plastic webbing that
always cut into my legs, leaving a
pattern that took days to disappear. I
know — I probably shouldn't have
been sitting so much. But, in those
days, we were convinced that you
could only get a tan if you stayed
perfectly still. Now, with the threat of
too much exposure to ultraviolet rays,
I know better. I'm happy to do my
sitting in the shade.
At the cottage, we used to sit at the
end of the dock and dangle our feet in
the water. Splinters and dock spiders,
I recall, were a definite disadvantage.
Rocks were too hard, and sand, much
too gritty. A picnic blanket might
have been the perfect portable
answer, but you could feel every
bump in the ground, and the ants and
the assorted multi -legged creatures
that came to join us quickly made it a
choice of last resort.
Years later, when faced with the
problem of furnishing our outdoor
living space, and coping with two
active preschoolers, not ready for a
more sophisticated treatment, I
thought about our old picnic table. It
was practical, compact and
organically constructed. Timeless in
design, it projected, among other
things, our love of dining outdoors.
Convinced that this could be fun,
my husband headed off to the
hardware store, where he picked up a
kit. Stuffing it in the back of the
station wagon, he confidently headed
home with his bounty. After a few
hours, the garage was a sight. covered
in plans and tools and sawdust. Our
four-year-old son, equipped with a
toy hammer and a hard hat, sported a
glint in his eye that would make any
mother worry. But all went
reasonably well. Father and son had a
good time bonding, and we didn't run
out of band-aids.
More than a dozen years have
passed since the project cemented
itself into a concrete memory that
now sits, overlooking the rolling
landscape, gathering moss under our
towering maples. Some days, I have
to move it aside to cut the lawn and,
once in a while, I stop there and rest
for a while, taking advantage of the
shade, while looking out across our
neighbour's field. There are times,
when I think we should rehabilitate it,
and times when I think we should just
get another one. But, somehow, it just
wouldn't be the same.
1 guess 111 just have to keep on
looking for the perfect chair. After a
long, hard day, I need something I
can retreat to, when all my gardening
chores are done. Something soft, I
suppose. And definitely, something
that will let me lean back, put up my
feet and appreciate from a distance,
those romantic memories of our old
picnic table.0