Well, maybe not joy, exactly. Maybe not even close. Yeah, not even. But I’ve been working outside for the last several days, driven by the pleasant September weather and the urgent understanding that this ain’t gonna last. Despite the sweat dripping into my eyes and the dirt on my hands and knees, it’s satisfying.
I’ve shoveled and raked and poisoned and hammered. I’ve painted, hauled, trimmed, swept, pounded, wheelbarrowed, and just this afternoon was able to lay down plastic sheeting and landscape cloth behind the house where The Wandering Monk and I did our redneck earth moving last week.
Tomorrow … the gravel! And yes, it’s worth an exclamation point.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about taking delivery of a couple yards of rock. But not only will that rock — the culmination of a two-year project — end the Really Bad Drainage Problems on Ye Olde Wreck.* But it’ll turn that once awful, dreadful, horrible, dark, dank, soggy, useless, downright scary, junk-strewn jungle behind the house into a patio. Well, more or less a patio. Next spring I’ll have to scrounge pavers. But it’ll be enough of an improvement that I promise to take pictures for you.
The rest of this week will be rush-rush-rush. ‘Cause the weatherman reports that over the weekend we’re going to go from delightful late summer to … typical. Sigh.
So if I’m slightly absent here and there it’s because I’m raking gravel, putting up a vapor barrier and ceiling in the screen porch, installing a gutter, repairing and cleaning a gutter, painting the porch floor, wrapping exposed foundation in plastic, reorganizing a pile of construction leftovers to save for spring, cleaning the yard, and otherwise doing everything that can be done outdoors while the sun still shines.
* Now seriously approaching its eventual name of Mo Saorise.