Who better to help in the garden?

Jesus can’t come till the 30th.
I really need him now.
It’s not surprising that he is in demand. He is good at what he does.
When I first met him I made a hasty judgment based on appearance. (note to self….don’t do that any more). I could feel that he was gentle, but the brown smile and the butt of a hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth screamed uncouth. The long hair stringing out of his ponytail, let’s just say there was a lot to misjudge. And that ole chestnut about French men smelling rather....er gamey, well, it was certainly true in this instance.
It started just after Jesus parted the field with a weedeater.

Snakes snakes snakes sankes smakessnakessnakes
Snakes
Nakess
Kessnak
They were everywhere and I had the creeps all the time.
I was getting over it. I was actually going barefoot, occasionally, and only on the tiles close to the house, while clapping my hands and whistling loudly, pounding my feet when I stepped.
When we first came to live in this house, Alf was here. He had been living in one room, being a guy. The grass was high and the underbrush thick. So the field mice, moles, grass snakes built an enormous housing project, Perfect when you think of it. Stone and brick structures, with lots of nooks and crannys for the not-quite “bottomfeeders” of the farmchain. Then the CitySlickers arrive (us) and start encroaching on their projects.
I have an update on Jesus. He over-charged me. So he is more like Judas.