Rose arch

The rose arch defines the outer limit of the home garden; beyond here, there be dragons. Well, sheep droppings, attack weeks, dust and orchard work.

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This arch matches one at the entry to the house. We buy them from Sam, local supplier, ex-fencer and current country & western performer with a new CD. Gossip holds that the arches are built at the local prison, bursting at the seams with guests of the present one term coalition hard-on-crime government. We will never forget erecting the first arch.

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The trouble occurred when we tried placing the arch into the four metal pipes at the base. It was too heavy and awkward. We dropped it. Ruth would say I dropped it. It bounced back and one end struck her in the left temple, severing her facial artery. That necessitated a frantic dash to the emergency department for stitches.

So, we approached the task of situating the rose arch today with some trepidation. Our son and his wife were here. We needed their help but did not wish to place them in harm’s way.

Bringing the painted arch from the shed to its erection site was uneventful. We placed the arch into position and spray painted the location for drilling. My son and I hand augured the holes. The shaft of the augur snapped as the fourth and final hole was dug. We placed the metal pipe into the holes, check the tops were level and tapped one or two in.

I reversed the ute back under the arch. We jumped on the tray. One side went in easily. The other was tricky but Kim, our son’s wife, claimed that her actions were central to our success.

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A lick of paint to the four supporting pipes and leading the climbing ‘iceberg’ runners to its home; and the garden perimeter will be secured.

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