And attack I did.
For 6 hours, with a brief interlude for lunch fed to me by the new neighbors who were attempting to host a glam brunch in the back yard, I weeded and weeded some more, cut down shrubs and toted bags of refuse up the hill to the front yard.
I filled a trash can so full it took me 2 hands and several rest stops to get it up the 5 ft. grade.
I'm sure I provided plenty of entertainment for the guests sitting all of 20 feet away.
The kittens helped. Lucy and I were both amazed by a butterfly sitting in the new little peach tree.
And Gus loved the back and forth motion of the Dutch hoe and jumped through clouds of weeds to get in on the action.
But me being me, and being born without a stop button, I managed through hours of repetive motion to give myself an all day and all night Monday migraine.
Dear God that was unpleasant.
So today when I came home from work, after trying to cut down a stream of liorpe in the front yard and being rewarded with a rush of nausea, I put down my tools, brought out a chair from inside and with a cool drink and the Sunday NYT, relaxed and enjoyed the late afternoon.
Though I know weeds wait for no man, or woman, I'm going to try approaching this from a different angle.
And although my yard is small, it is packed with plants and beds. Where before there were two people working feverishly, now there is one.
And she's gonna slow it down. No more than 3 hours labor. I mean it.
No it won't be perfect but it never was. It's a garden, not an event.
And sometimes it's nice to just sit in it and watch the strawberries bloom.
And with the help of cropping it's always gonna look good for y'all. No worries, right?