Spring
Ah the rituals... for a number of years, James was my guy on wood chip detail. We'd fire up SiriusXM in the Suburban, lift gate open, and put my XM boom box by the garage, and he'd be in fake surround EDM heaven.
He'd fill the 'barrow, I'd run the 'barrow and dump, and Linda would spread the chips, sometimes. Mostly it was me and James. It's an amazing thing, doing real work with your kid.
All the stuff we built, the ramps for bikes and boarding, the snow ramps out back on the hill by the courts, hundreds of other projects... quality time, solid time. I so miss his company. *sniff*
Anyway, the torch is passed to the lovely Linda, who wields a mean fork, either at the dinner table or out in the wood chip pile. She also wields a mean knife but that's mostly in the kitchen and generally to fend me off. She's often successful.
The new pitchfork is leaning against the wheelbarrow. The old one, dark handle, in the trailer, artfully almost concealing the basketball hoop (not ring, Ted Cruz), a coincidence totally unforeseen by the photographer... that fork might be 50 or 60 years old. It's from Linda's dad Joe, and one tine is worn more than the others, and every time I use it I think of him gifting it to me, and smile. I know he's glad I've made use of it. over the years.
Here's the start of it all, 3 yards and no cloud of dust:
Bruce and Trish are the best neighbors ever, loaning the trailer and the big 'barrow. Linda filled and dumped our small red wheelbarrow, I'd do the big boy, and she'd do the chip art, moving each wood chip individually like Chagall. Or wait, Monet. Each chip a touch of the brush .
He'd fill the 'barrow, I'd run the 'barrow and dump, and Linda would spread the chips, sometimes. Mostly it was me and James. It's an amazing thing, doing real work with your kid.
All the stuff we built, the ramps for bikes and boarding, the snow ramps out back on the hill by the courts, hundreds of other projects... quality time, solid time. I so miss his company. *sniff*
Anyway, the torch is passed to the lovely Linda, who wields a mean fork, either at the dinner table or out in the wood chip pile. She also wields a mean knife but that's mostly in the kitchen and generally to fend me off. She's often successful.
The new pitchfork is leaning against the wheelbarrow. The old one, dark handle, in the trailer, artfully almost concealing the basketball hoop (not ring, Ted Cruz), a coincidence totally unforeseen by the photographer... that fork might be 50 or 60 years old. It's from Linda's dad Joe, and one tine is worn more than the others, and every time I use it I think of him gifting it to me, and smile. I know he's glad I've made use of it. over the years.
Here's the start of it all, 3 yards and no cloud of dust:
Bruce and Trish are the best neighbors ever, loaning the trailer and the big 'barrow. Linda filled and dumped our small red wheelbarrow, I'd do the big boy, and she'd do the chip art, moving each wood chip individually like Chagall. Or wait, Monet. Each chip a touch of the brush .
Here's the long view, first load in place:
And because this is, in fact, a reality show, kinda, here's where the 3 yards ran out, which means I have to run out, refill, and refresh. It's all so easy (ha. ha.)
And now we're bickering over whether we need one, two, or three more yards to finish the front. O, the married life for me...
By the way, the last time I did the whole yard, rather than bit by bit, I had 20 yards dumped in the drive. So we have a little more yet to do...
I will add the final pic as soon as the rain stops. Might be a week.
Surprise... it's here!!!
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