Busy Lizzy

This weekend has been deemed "garden weekend" by my roommates and me. We spent the entire day yesterday doing yardwork and gardening, and I can't think of a better way to have spent a sunny, spring afternoon.

I wish we had taken before and after pictures. You would never recognize the backyard, after our 12 hour day.

We started with clearing the crap from between the trees in on the southeast side of the yard. Stacia bought the house last year, and this is our first summer living here, so we had a lot of just basic picking up to do. It would appear that the people who lived here before buried their trash in the soil. Here are some of the things we found, while digging into the ground:

a few broken beer bottles
plastic to-go containers
food wrappers
large wire pieces
glass, glass, glass
broken clay pots
an old-school plastic change-holder

Here are a few of the things we found just outside our yard, in alley:

a needle (not the kind you thread for sewing)
more broken beer bottles
and, most strangely, a bag of fish


Suffice to say, everyone wore gloves and a crinkled nose for that first few hours of clean-up.

After we had cleaned up the rubbish, we started loading grass clippings, brush, and leaves to bring to the compost.

Holly and I planted four rose bushes and a few snapdragons next to the bed of lilies. We also did some weeding around the southwest fence, where the tulips are in full bloom, and where I had recently planted red dayliles, purple aster, and columbine.

We started clearing the raised garden bed, which we are going to turn into an herb garden, but I had a hard time shoveling with the flat shovel that Stacia raved about for its ease. This ensued an "intellectual disagreement" (Stacia says I can't use the word "fight" in reference to the garden bed debacle) over which shovel was easier to use. (We never agreed--I still think the flat shovel is impossible to break ground with and Stacia intellectually disagrees that the flat head is the best way to clear out the grass without tearing up too much dirt.)

The only other contentious moment between Stacia and I happened when I volunteered to make a run to Menards to pick up a few things for us. After I had loaded up my little Ford Focus with six bags of mulch, four bags of compost, and a 10x10in tamper and started driving home, Stacia called and said, "I need more cement for the laundry pole--can you go back and pick some up?"

Because it was sunny, because I was elated to be helping, I said, "Sure," and turned the Focus around and went back to Menards.

Just as I had turned the car around on busy University Avenue, my phone rang again. It was Holly. "Stacia says sorry for the panic, but she doesn't need another bag after all."

So the Focus switched directions and pointed away from Menards on Prior and University, heading East toward Frogtown.

And then my phone rang again. This time it was Stacia. "Sorry," she said, "I do need that bag."

My jovial mood had dipped--I was tired of making illegal U-turns and burning unnecessary fuel as I whipped my car around and around with a million extra pounds of heavy yard stuff in my hatchback. And I said, angrily, "You are f***ing kidding me!"

Stacia, knowing it was best not to push the conversation, just politely thanked me and mumbled something about seeing me soon.

I found the bag of concrete in the very back of the store. I indignantly attempted to lift it. Yikes--it was 60 pounds. I told myself that I could lift kids almost that size, so I could do this. And here's the thing, they put it on the bottom shelf, so you have to use your knees and lower back to lift it up. Ever since my big hike in New Zealand, I have had some funkiness going on in my left knee, but this was important. I squatted, in an attempt to ease the workload on my lower back, and heaved up the more-than-half my body weight bag of concrete mix.

And I sprang back and smacked my head on the upper shelf.

More embarrassed than hurt, I quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching. I didn't see anyone and quickly transported the bag of concrete to my shopping cart. I checked out, doled out the $3.50 or whatever it cost, and hastily wheeled the cart to my already busting at the seams Ford Focus. At which point I realized the bag I had picked had a hole. I looked back and saw the trail of concrete mix the had followed me across the parking lot. I then realized that I had somehow been covered in cement mix, from head to toe.

Frustrated with how difficult this one stupid task had become, tears started welling up in my eyes. How hard did this have to be?! I took a deep breath, found someone who could help me, and asked a stringy teenager who looked eager to help if he wouldn't mind getting me a replacement bag and loading it into my car. Meanwhile, I called Stacia, feeling kind of needy and sensitive, and told her about busting the bag of concrete. "Should I be worried at all about having cement mix all over my skin?" I asked her.

"Nah," she said, laughing about my adventure (and probably in relief that I wasn't mad anymore). "But," she added playfully, "just don't get caught in the rain. You might be stiffen up a bit."

I exhaustedly delivered the heavy bag to Stacia and claimed first dibs on the bathtub.

And so, this morning, bathed, and well-slept, I stepped outside onto the south-facing deck. I saw my freshly-planted pots of petunias and pansies, purple, orange, and yellow tulips, the four rose bushes, bright, fragrant lilacs from the huge lilac tree that separates our yard from the trash-ridden alley, a cleaned-up eastern fence, complete with wood chips and native wildflowers planted along the edge, and heaps of space to plant the other perennials we will be receiving this week.

We are going to have a fantastic garden--I can't wait for more to bloom!

And now, I am going to go plant the flat-full of impatiens I bought from the Calliope plant sale yesterday. I will be busy, as there are about 45 plants to put in.

How apt, then, that I will be planting impatiens, also known as "busy lizzies."