I cleaned my yard. *Applause*
I’m afraid you’ll have to have followed this blog for a while to fully understand what this means. Because I’m not going to elaborate. No, I’m going to pretend it’s always looked like this.My glutes are still burning from the hundred or so pregnant squats I had to do mucking out the pond. Who needs crossfit when you can just fish pond scum out of your fountain with a bucket? Seriously. And you don’t empty it just once. It takes like five goes, because you have to rinse the sledge out of the pond after emptying it, while filling it up again in the process. Let’s not talk about it. The view from the new deck. Celebratory patio furniture. (Wait, I have patio?) This is the only time in the six years that we’ve lived here that the area under the tree has been clear. An excavated oil tank was the dominant feature for more than three of them. The rest of the time Marc has deposited all of his firewood here as well as brush from various tree jobs. I’m talking piles taller than me. One of his favorite places is an orchard they occasionally unload their chip truck in. It’s full of wood of various sizes, in various degrees of decomposition. All I know is that if we ever do get acreage there will be a strong separation of church and state. On one side will be the house with my kitchen garden and roses and somewhere waaaaaaaay over somewhere else, where I do not even know it exists, will be my husband’s composting orchard, impressionistic garden, and shop, no doubt built of pallets and re-purposed bailing twine. He can just knock himself out and I will not rake up his precious sticks again. He can have them.I’m just glad we’re finally able to walk through the back yard. I would say “again,” but this is the first time.