We are in the middle of landscaping at our house. When I say, middle, I mean, I am standing in a 2 foot hole of dirt or rather clay in front of my front porch where we have removed 12 yards of woodchips, rocks, clay soil, and dead shrubs. The boys, my dad, father-in-law, brother-in-law, husband have been working for 2 weekends to remove all of this debris. I have done what I can to help by feeding and cleaning up around them.
Sunday, though, I looked at the pile, and my husband’s words, “I’m done – hire someone” bouncing in my head, the girls (me and my sister) got to work. We decided that we would turn the dirt, so that we could bring the bigger pile to the lower pile. We would start the grading process, so the water runs away from the house. Sweaty and about an hour in, we have piles, but no usable soil. Once we removed the debris we found heavy, wet clay which is typical in this area. We decided that we had to add it to the special pickup pile which the boys started the day before. So, we began to fill the wheelbarrow and dump the contents on the pile.
We quickly realized that while useful, the wheelbarrow might be one of the hardest to use tools. It wobbles on its one wheel and you have to support all of the weight with your arms. Then as you maneuver the debris onto the pile, you have to get it high enough that you can keep adding to the pile. Doing just this, I heard something. I turned to see my sister struggling with the wheelbarrow only to watch it tip on its side. She squawked, landing in the dirt. Before I could inquire about her well-being, she triumphantly held up one wooden handle from the wheelbarrow and declared, “I broke the wheelbarrow.” Realizing that she was fine, I started laughing and she started laughing.We could barely continue working as we giggled in between shovelfuls of clay.
Well, I guess this was girls and landscaping. However, even writing this, I’m still laughing at my sister sitting next to a toppled wheelbarrow, holding up the broken wooden handle.