Today the Big Man and I spent many hours digging walkways out of the garden and making raised beds. It was the last of many steps that made our shitty backyard weed patch look like an actual garden. I am actually too sore to type very much, so I'm just going to post some pictures and then sit on the couch with a crappy movie and an excellent cocktail.


First, you need to find an awesome dude with a tractor and a sweet tooth that can come down and plow the sod with a tractor in exchange for some brownies and honey peanut butter bars and eternal gratitude.



Then, you need a sexy man to use the tractor to scoop tons of horse manure on top of the freshly plowed garden.

This is in the middle of that. The manure is the black piles in the back row. You also need to rototill.


Then you stake out the beds and paths, and spend a lot of horrid time with a shovel and a pitchfork moving earth about. But then it totally looks like a garden and is worth the seven-and-counting blisters and the total soreness from toes to upper back that neither cold compresses nor a complete lack of movement can alleviate.

The red ladies, meanwhile, have been doing an excellent job of fattening up and muffling about.