Rock 'n' roll

We are not unusual, I think, relative to other homeowners. Surely there are small differences, such as we may mow more frequently, or shovel snow more often... no wait, that's my neighbor Trish.

Ok,  she and I may have strains of OCD coursing through us. Everyone's on the scale somewhere, right? Notice I didn't say spectrum.

But by and large, suburban homeowners either do, or have done, maintenance of one sort or another pretty much constantly. It comes with the territory of home ownership, right? Stuff needs replacing, repairing, repainting, vacuuming, watering... some work is done several times a day, some things happen oh, every quarter century or so. 

It just depends on the situation. Load stuff into the dishwasher? Several times a day. Replace windows or a driveway? Hopefully the longer haul... and so many in-between actions, relative to periodicity, such as weeding, or window-washing, or washing the car, and so on.

And that's how we landed on this landscaping adventure.

When first it was designed (and installed), we had extensive plant beds in both the front and back of the house. By extensive, I mean adjacent to the entire front sidewalk, the driveway, across the front of the house, the south side of the house, the back of the house, the north side of the house, and across the entire stretch of the back yard (abutting the neighborhood association's tennis courts). We even had shrubs adjacent to the screen porch.

And searching for a descriptor for "plant beds", "extensive" is just shorthand. Flowers, bushes, trees... now, some 26 years later, we've methodically (which suggests far more planning than actually occurred) ripped out significant swaths of plant life.

And by ripped out, I mean on several occasions hiring or renting mechanical devices (think small tractor or the Toro Dingo, aka small skid steer) and using automotive towing chains, and/or chainsaws.

Yes, I do have a machete, and I know how to use it.

The removal of swaths of plant life, no longer decorative nor desirable, and the reshaping of flower beds and such, has happened as a series of "projects" over time, each with its own challenge and solution. As a true Kentucky-born hillbilly, I often turn to creative approaches, which include looking to the north, Canada, and my role model in all such endeavors, Red Green.

I mean, when trees grow from eight-footers to over thirty feet, I'm gonna need backup.

So in one of the earlier reshaping adventures, a rock was placed artfully in the planting bed out back. (if you're guessing that this is the "Rock" in the title of this tome,  you are correct and happy that I've finally come to at least introduce it). We are pretty sure James put it there, as even fifteen years ago I would have struggled with it.

And through the years, a bush grew, also artfully placed (note that all placement decisions have been, and will be made forever into the future, by Linda).

Alas, the bush grew and obscured our sight line to  the rock.

A quick calculation (no Google search needed) brought forth a decision to move the rock, not the bush.

So pick it up and drop it in a better spot. What's the problem?

Well, in a word, weight.

I was able to fit a shovel under it, and leverage allowed me to raise it, but only a few inches. And it was not possible to throw a wedge into the hole from the far, handle-end of the shovel. 

So I grabbed a two-foot chunk of deck board, and, standing on the shovel handle far enough away from the rock to keep the gap open, I could jam the board between the rock and the soft place.

Over, and over, and over, until the rock was resting on enough lumber to bring its bottom, heretofore buried below grade, to the surface.

Ok, brilliant. Now to move it laterally.

Crap.

So, I went to the garage, that trove of fix-it treasures, and found a winch strap from a boat trailer. Actually I have two of these. Did I mention Red Green?

I was thinking, since the straps were at least 15 feet long, I could wrap a lot of webbing around the rock, and then secure the free ends to my lawn mower, a 14-horse 36" cut monster, and use reverse gear which I decided (blindly) was just the right gear ratio for the job.

But before I fired up the beast, and wrapped the rock like a Christmas present (or more accurately like a Rube Goldberg solution), how about one last try?

I brought out a few more short deck board pieces (the last decking I built was probably fifteen years ago but as to the short cut ends you never know when you might need them, went my thinking) and used my shovel-leverage-insert-a-board trick, and then accidentally discovered I could "flip" the rock. Just a little.

Advancing it by shovel-prying and pushing and yes, by rolling, I was able to find a new home for the rock.

Behold, the rock in its new home, not far from its old home. Elapsed time, several hours:

Next, a bit of a longer look for context:

And finally, wood-chipped in (the artless man's paint):

I know my Texas friend Marc can find a tune apropos of the story, but I'll leave that to him... 

Postscript: Marc never disappoints... and has his own rock story too!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9i3JXGtC_os

Post postscript: Linda has chimed in with her own title tune:

"Rock of Aged"

And now, post-post postscript (thanks I think, Linda):