It's only been twelve hours since I finished the first half of the front yard, sans grass seed, and I'm already eying the last and smaller half. My back is sore, my shoulders are tight from overuse, and my palms are sore with hard callouses, and I can't wait to get the pick ax back in my hand and start digging away at the next chunk of gravel filled yard.
I'm an addict. Somebody stop me.
Or better yet, come help me! I have extra shovels! Lots of dirt to move! Enough grass seed for another lawn! And a tree I want to buy! Yes Yes Yes! I just can't stop! It's like I don't remember the back-breaking labor of digging up packed gravel, or how the gravel dust forms a layer between the gravel and soil that turns into cement after the rain, or how frustrating it is to have to stop every other shovelful of dirt to move hunks of rock out of the way . . . or I just don't care because the end result is so worth it all the aching pain, gritty sweat, and teeth-gnashing frustration.
Sure you don't want to come help me?
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3 comments:
Sure! Hopefully I'll have a day come up free soon. Maybe even this weekend! But not Saturday. Saturday very full ...
That would be cool if you came over to help. But weekends are out. Family time and all. Kate and I are usually outside first thing of a morning, just after TC heads off to work, around 8:30 or 9:00 while it is still cool. And then we work until the church bell rings at noon and go in for lunch. If my energy holds out. With lots of little breaks inbetween, of course. ;-)
First thing Monday morning, I'll be out there, pick-axing away . . .
Gravel. There's just too much gravel. I'm running out of room to put it.
And I, I have no way to come to get any gravel. :(
BTW: Is it possible to "chomp" at the bit? I'm not sure I like "champing" at a bit...even a little bit.
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