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Manual Labor Sucks

There are few things as therapeutic as slogging around in the garden. If by “therapeutic” you mean “sweaty,” “back-breaking” and “rly, rly tiring.”

We pulled everything out of this area yesterday (except for the crepe myrtle on the left and the robellini palm on the right–but it did get a significant haircut) because that last bloody frost simply murdered it all:


The “Before”

And those little pavers we were using as a temporary border were getting their butts kicked by grass and weeds. Where do the gods-be-damned weeds come from anyway? You start with a yard full of nothing but sod and before you know it the evil Bermuda grass is frickin’ everywhere.

And another thing, if you live in Florida, do. not. plant. sunflowers. Especially if you have roses. Goddamned japanese beetles.

So, back to the landscaping. We yanked out all that crap, then built a border using the same stones as used around the tree, then added (I shit you not) 1000 lbs of topsoil + composted cow poop. Should be some happy damned flowers.

Instead of my culled-from-books list of items to plant, we planted what-was-available-at-Lowe’s. Ah well, can’t have everything. Everything should expand to about 2 to 3 feet in diameter though (except the roses which will go as far as we let them, being hedgers), so that should flat solve the weed problem…even weeds can’t grow without sunlight.

Oh, and those ribs we had in the smoker all day? Fan-bloody-tastic. And since none of you lot showed up to help, we gave the leftovers to the neighbors. That’s what you get.

Now you must excuse us, we have a metric shitload of mulch to buy.