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May 15, 2006

Gardening probably burns calories, right?

I am maybe slightly hobbled over and also, limping. You may be asking, "What exciting sport/date-gone-wild/hijinks and toomfoolery did you tangle with to be hunched over on a Monday morning?"

And your excitement would be wasted on me, me who is the apex of boringness, me who has apparently suffered a gardening-related injury. Or not-injury, really, more like "I am so pitiful out of shape that hauling a few bags of dirt around has crippled me."

I should maybe use my treadmill more often? Do some sport besides knitting?

And ya'll, I am embarrassed to tell you, I did not even haul around that much garden-related stuff. In fact, I maybe carried one or two bags of Gromulch, and the rest of the lifting and "put it here... no... over there... let's move this, too!" was carried out by two very nice men who had the dire misfortune to be working on a house directly next to me, one Scarlett Wishful O'Hara.

The house next door to me, previously rented by Mark and Sherri, a very nice couple, is now being put up for sale and for the past couple of weeks all sort of hammering and drilling and painting has been going on over there. I have just been ignoring it, since I know that with my luck the folks who buy that house will be either: A) Loud talkers/yellers/all-night partiers B) Super quiet people who despise my breathing noise c) Satan-worshippers who make live pigeon sacrfices in the backyard D) Drug dealers. So, I have just ignored the whole house-is-for-sale-to-possible-Satanists aspect. However, on Saturday morning I was introduced to Octavio and Julio, both of whom were very sorry to bother me but could I please come outside please?

Not a good sign, usually.

They had apparently been sawing down the tree that sits between my yard and the neighbor's yard when a large chunk of said tree crashed into my back patio. One would think that I would have heard this madness and carrying on just a mere fifteen feet from me, but I was locked in a bathroom with a cat who was determined not to be poisoned (medicated) and had grown ten biting heads and forty-eleven claws and frankly ya'll I was just not monitoring the logging operations going on in the back yard.

So I went outside with Octavio and Julio and we looked at my backyard and the large tree which was covering much of my patio.

"Shady!" I said.
"Accidental!" they said.
"Is it too early for a beer?" asked guess-who.
"Never too early!" said Octavio.

And after much chitchatting and scrutinizing of the downed soldier, everyone decided perhaps the best thing to do would be to push it back over the fence to the other side. Mind you, I had nothing to do with this flash of brilliance, as I was doing the thing that all good Southerners do when faced with a tree spontaneously committing suicide over their back porch: I was opening up cold beers and hostessing. Because this is what I do, people. I can't chainsaw a tree or haul it off to the... tree place, or whatever people do with giant pieces of greenery. No, I make jokes and kick back a cold one.

Of course, after 20 minutes of trying to push a giant tree back into the yard from whence it came, everyone was ready for another round and Octavio and Julio decided perhaps, with my OK, they would just saw it here and carry it off piece by piece?

And as day turned into evening turned into six-pack, the tree left little by little, I realized that the Almighty himself had send me these two new best buddies, and they felt so bad about a tree landing on my porch that they would agree to do anything, and also they were maybe a little intoxicated. And I had eleventeen hundred pounds of potting soil in giant bags that I had purchased way back in... April? that had been delivered... to my garage. And I had procrastinated for about as long as one can procrastinate when they are on a square watermeloning craze, and the dirt needed to make it to the back 40 for the transplanting, and I had found two poor schmoes to help me haul eleventeen hundred pounds of potting soil on Sunday. If a tree falls in Encino, will Scarlett O'Hara think about her garden the next day? Indeed!

On Sunday, both Octavio and Julio came 'round in the afternoon, and helped me with the Great Dirt Distribution Project of 2006. As previously mentioned and worth stating once again, I carried at least two whole bags of Gromulch (ha!) and I transplanted most of my seedlings and I took pictures of none of this, because it was 500 degrees in the valley all weekend and I was sweaty and dirty and also, 500 degrees. This story has no excellent conclusion, unless you find it excellent that I lied to everyone at work just now and said I was hunched over and crippled from a weekend of extreme hanky-panky, which I am sure they really believed, especially after one person suggested I downgrade to a "battery-operated model." Heh.

C'est Monday. Hobble hobble.

Pictures that also have nothing to do with this story.



Posted by laurie at May 15, 2006 10:04 AM