The Contentment of Sleeping Under the Porch

I hurt. My back hurts. My neck hurts. My abs hurt, and the last time that happened I had food poisoning. My hands hurt. They're red, swollen, and tired. It hurts to type. It hurts to sit. It hurts to stand.

Obviously, this mini-farm renovation and gardening are great for me. This is better than going to the gym. Also, unlike the gym, there's no getting out of it. The deck will look disgusting until I do something about it. The plants will die if I don't attend to them. The dogs would like to feed themselves, but that's a bad idea. It's a lot of work, but it's good for me.

Before

I spent the day alternating between relocating ornamental grass and tearing down the hideous, white trellis that someone thought would make a good fence. This all seemed easy in theory, but digging up grass means digging through thatch and tearing down a trellis means removing hundreds of screws. By the time I got to the last plant, I was so fatigued I couldn't even pull it up with a pry bar. I did much better with the trellis, even though my arms were aching before I was even a third of the way through. Then it was time to feed the pets, feed the plants and feed the humans. It was a dawn to dusk sort of work day, but it was also a beautiful spring day.

Another advantage to this new lifestyle is that I get to see things I would ordinarily miss. The honeysuckle tree was in full bloom and in the cool hours of the day it was humming with bees. We saw the first of the lady bugs who are welcome to feast on the whiteflies as soon as my tomatoes come out.

My boyfriend found a cactus about to bloom and transplanted it to his garage garden, which is what I call the small space between the kitchen door and the garage where he plans to make his personal outdoor room. I have already banned his kegerator from the garden, which he says creates an unreasonable burden. When ice cold beer spews forth from cane stalks, he can have that magical plant in the garden, until then he'll have to walk to the garage. See, I'm not unreasonable. He spent a lot of time mowing this weekend. With his old straw hat on, he looked like a farmer.

The little dog, Griffin, was given unusually free rein to roam nearby, yesterday. He spent part of his time tailing Calicocoa as she made her rounds. He also had fun chasing grasshoppers, though he didn't seem to think they tasted very good. He kept releasing them and trying to catch them again.  Flibbertigibbet.

Calicocoa loped around the property at will, drank ice water, had to be chased out of the barn for eating manure and finally took advantage of the trellis-free deck to fall asleep under the front porch. She looked like an experienced farm dog, lying there in the dirt with sand caking her nose. She looked content. Just the same, I wondered whether I would really let her in the house without a bath. (Too tired, I did.) 

After

Richard Parker had a day of peace and quiet with the house to herself.

Altogether, I think everyone had a good day. Now that the grass is transplanted, the trellis is mostly gone, the dogs are fed, the rugs are vacumed, the plants are watered, and the dishes are done. It's time for some Advil and lights out. I'll do the ironing tomorrow.