Coffee heat rising

Beloved Yard Dude Gone

Gerardo the Yard Dude Extraordinaire has disappeared from the scene. He’s not answering phone calls, and that’s not like him. So La Maya (another of his clients) and I are worried something’s happened to him.

Of late, he’s had a hard time getting good workers, partly because many migrants are staying in Mexico for lack of work here, and partly because the rabid Sheriff Joe’s publicity racist anti-undocumented worker campaign has resulted in so much harassment for Latinos that people who jump through all the immigration hoops to enter the country go to friendlier locales. Gerardo himself is very smart and very good at what he does. But some of the characters he’s hired lately have been annoying. He does a lot of the work himself, and so he’s not riding herd on these guys—and they’re guys who need to be watched every minute. The result is not always ideal.

Meanwhile, speaking of rabid, the dratted palm trees around the pool have gone into a reproductive frenzy. Why people plant palms around swimming pools (or anywhere, for that matter) beats me. They’re one of the messiest trees around. They grow out of the top, sprouting a new topknot of fronds each spring. The previous year’s growth then dies, creating an ideal nest for cockroaches. At the same time, the plant springs a crop of long flowering wands, which drop millions of tiny, crisply sharp blossoms all over the ground and into the pool. The things are too small to be caught by most pump pot and skimmer baskets, and so they get sucked into your pump. Not good. Worse: the fertilized flowers produce BB-sized seeds. These rock-hard little fellows also drop into the pool, where the pool cleaner picks them up and chokes on them, resulting in a nice repair bill.

So, once a year you have to get a guy to come round and trim the palm trees, at rates ranging from $25 to $45 apiece. Some people have them taken out, but in a yard like mine, where the pool is built within a couple feet of the wall, removing the stumps would pose quite a challenge. Besides, in such a confined area there’s not much else you can plant that will cast even a modicum of shade.

Gerardo was doing the job for $25, very cheap. So I cringed at the thought of having to track down someone else to do the palms and, BTW, the monthly yard work.

At this time of year, dozens of itinerant workers roam the neighborhoods looking for palm tree work. They litter your front door with cards. So I picked one whose name I vaguely remembered from last year: Joel G.

I’m impressed:

1. He’s Mexican. Several amazing experiences have left me strongly preferring Mexican over Anglo landscape workers.

2. He showed up promptly to provide an estimate. He must live nearby, because he was here 15 minutes after I called.

3. He looks substantial and honest. OK, I know you can’t tell a book by its (etc.), but gut instinct goes a long way toward assessing character. He’s clean-cut, neatly dressed, and has a frank, straightforward manner. At first inspection, I’m guessing this is probably a decent man.

4. His English is excellent. That helps a lot, because my Spanish leaves a lot to be desired. Like…oh, say, Spanish.

5. He charges a reasonable price, only $5 a tree more than Gerardo.

6. He also advertises a number of other skills, the very skills M’hijito and I have need of: he can install watering systems and lay gravel. If his price is right there, too, we may hire him to do the landscaping at the downtown house.

And he’s hired. We’ll see how good a job he does on the palms. If that works out, maybe we can get him going on the two houses, and that would be a great help in our lives.

I hope Gerardo is OK. Palm tree work is very dangerous—every year men are injured or killed wrestling with these nasty plants. Worse even than falling off an 80-foot-high stem is getting trapped under one of the heavy fronds: if you can’t get out quickly, you suffocate. It’s such a gruesome way to die that just about every incident hits the newspapers, and so if anything like that had happened to him, La Maya would have picked up on it, since she still gets the Arizona Republic. But other injuries and car wrecks are so commonplace no one even notices. We’re both assuming he’s met with some accident…but who knows? Maybe he took a salaried job.

Image by Ginobovara, Wikipedia Commons

Gerardo the Heroic

Ahora que Dave’s Used Car Lot, Marina, and Weed Arboretum is cleaned up—however temporarily—I felt encouraged to thin out the Jungle whose purpose is to screen the view from my front window so I don’t have to see that dump.

Before...
Before...

Gerardo, aware of this winsome craving, came by the other day and observed that it was time to clean up the trees and shrubs. “Claro que sí,” I said, in some sort of English. Before long he had three dudes out there, cutting, trimming, digging up, and hauling. “No fútbols,” said I, meaning I did not wish to see trees or brush shaped like soccer balls. “Of course not,” said he, in some sort of Spanish.

They hacked and they heaved, they nipped and they clipped, they filled Gerardo’s truck chock-full of thorny life-threatening limbs.

“You’ve let these things go too long,” said Gerardo, in some sort of Spanglish. “They should’ve been shaped properly a long time ago.”

“Yah, don’t I know it,” I said, in hypereducated English. “Jes’ do the best you can.”

They shaped and they trimmed and they dodged and they hefted. They packed impossible amounts of stuff into Gerardo’s truck. Three hours later, they had the yard looking pretty darned good. Gerardo, after all, does know how to prune desert plants so they stay looking like desert plants. You just have to say to him, “Keep your eye on that guy and that guy and that guy over there, ’cause you’re the one who knows how to do it right.” And then he sees that they do it right.

...y despus
...y después.

After all this heaving around, they whipped through the property and performed their regular monthly ablutions: blowered up the leaves and raked the gravel and cleaned up all the pavement and carried off the leaves and debris. As they fired up the truck to drive it, groaning, off to the dump, Gerardo presented his bill: $110.

!Dios mio! I couldn’t believe it. Gerardo’s regular bill is $75. That meant he charged, for all that extra work, $35. That’s something like ten bucks an hour, for three workers.

How does the man survive?

How can you pay such a man? For sure, the Christmas bonus has to be a gigantic gift card to Home Depot (assuming that outfit has no strings on its cards that will rip him off). Better yet, though: M’jihito has decided to punt on the scheme to xeriscape the Investment House, since we can’t afford desert landscaping just now, and instead to cultivate the devilgrass (Tejano for “bermudagrass”) to form a lawn of sorts. Between now and spring, I’ll hire Gerardo to put in a winter lawn, which will keep him busy until the heat comes back up. If he’s smart (which he is), he’ll prepare the ground so the bermuda will take right over when the days grow long, and then he’ll have another job to add to his clientele.