All things green

Who can complain about the weather we have been having?
78 degrees in March is just ridiculous.
It has definitely stirred my interest in trying to get our yard back into shape again.
All the work we had done at the end of the year with the foundation and the new sidewalk out front ended up almost completely tearing up our front yard.
And when the contractors left, they threw down grass seed and straw - right up to the house. So now, in my mulch beds, there are bright green blades of grass slicing through the dark mulch.
Argh.
The Ump had a scrimmage to umpire on Saturday, so I decided to stay home instead of watching him. I love my husband, but when it comes to doing housework and yardwork, often we work better separately.
I spent the better part of Saturday morning working on the flower bed that is beneath our bedroom window. It was full of leaves and the cats and dogs had been digging in it. It was a mess.
There is something so satisfying about working in dirt, feeling the soil between your fingers (minus the earthworms I kept running into) and smelling that fertile, earthy smell.
Maybe there is a recessive gene planted in all of us that is triggered by warm temperatures and song birds. I know that I am happier at this time of the year as the days get longer and everything starts greening.
Except my yard.
Oh, there are parts of the lawn where nice thick thatches of grass are growing in happy communion. Unfortunately, the patches are not quilted together. My lawn appears to have male pattern baldness.
Since the Ump was pooped when he came home Saturday, we hit the lawn after church on Sunday.
Well, first we had to take a ride out to the farm to pick up some straw and a pitchfork and a chain saw.
Of course, this was not a short trip because we first had to talk to Marty out at the farm. Then we swung by and checked on Billy Wakeman who recently had knee surgery and was walking out of his house in a slow and steady fashion using a cane.
Next came a detour at the high school baseball field where Donn, John and Dana were trying to get the field in shape for the upcoming season.
By the time we got home, it was time for lunch. Then we attacked the lawn.
The Ump had borrowed an iron rake from the farm and used it to scratch up the rocks and concrete left behind by the contractor. I helped pick up rocks, but I complained most of the time because my back and arms were hurting from Saturday's yardwork.
The other thing is that the Ump has this way of telling me to do stuff rather than asking me to help. His tone just goes all over me. So we spent a good portion of the time squabbling while he threw down grass seed and we both shook two bales of straw on the lawn.
Next we had to water down the straw even though it looked like a storm was coming any second. (It didn't rain, so score one for the Ump.)
Turns out I don't understand how to spray water on straw. At least that is what he insinuated as he told me where and how much water to spray. I was so very tempted to splash a nice icy stream on him, but I figured that might get ugly.
After all, we just got out of church.
Today he paid a neighbor kid to come up and do some watering and some other odd jobs around the yard.
Good idea. Although I might have been a little more tolerant if he had slipped me a twenty.