Yard work. Grrr.
During my teenage years, while moving piles of rocks from one end of the yard to another, I swore that when I owned my own house, and therefore had a choice in the matter, I would never engage in yard work of the scale that would require a wheelbarrow. That vow lasted through my time at the Oak Park House and over two years in Columbus. Then we started a project to expand the planter bed along the sidewalk and driveway (where the grass refused to grow because of big chunks of concrete in the topsoil).
We dug up the sod a while back and, after letting it ferment on the sidewalk in bags for a week or so, I drove it to a composting facility in town (almost driving the Pathfinder into a gigantic pallet-crushing machine along the way). Then we got to dig through layers of river rock, concrete, leftover building materials, and earthworm habitat for about a week. Then, today, I got to move piles of loose dirt to an empty lot down the road.
So, long story short: now we have a wheelbarrow.
The cat didn't really help much. When are you going to start earning your keep, Monkey?
We dug up the sod a while back and, after letting it ferment on the sidewalk in bags for a week or so, I drove it to a composting facility in town (almost driving the Pathfinder into a gigantic pallet-crushing machine along the way). Then we got to dig through layers of river rock, concrete, leftover building materials, and earthworm habitat for about a week. Then, today, I got to move piles of loose dirt to an empty lot down the road.
So, long story short: now we have a wheelbarrow.
The cat didn't really help much. When are you going to start earning your keep, Monkey?