This evening we’re in the middle of what feels like the first real spring rain of the season. The rain started this afternoon as I was finished the first phase of a project I’ve been putting off since the day we moved into this house in 1996.
We’re the third or fourth owners of this house, but no one ever landscaped the lot. For years, I have been irritated by a low spot in the front lawn. And this is the year I finally do something about it. Nobody ever really seeded our front yard either, and after a massive attack of grubs last year there really isn’t any front lawn to speak of. Uneven grass is one thing; an expanse of bare dirt is something else.
But in trying to reestablish the lawn, I was determined not to seed a hole. So, in order to fill that hole I’ve started moving dirt from an inconspicuous spot out back. This of course is creating a hole in the back yard.
When I was on the phone with Marge earlier in the day, she asked what I was doing. “Moving a hole,” I replied, “with a wheelbarrow and shovel. I would have preferred to tie it to the rear bumper of the car and tow it to its new location out back, but I couldn’t seem to make the physics work.”