TWO STEPS BACK
It is such a pleasant feeling to fall into bed with every muscle in your body aching from a hard day’s work. Despite the pain, a person can drift off to sleep self satisfied in their accomplishments of a day well spent. If you can identify with that, well, it’s nice to be you.
Last night I fell into bed with muscles screaming, but alas, I didn’t have a single thing to show for it. Woe is me. If I had spent the day in bed reading a good book, or went to the spa for a pedicure I would have been further ahead. At least I would have had some new thoughts and soft feet to show for my day instead of one big fat nothing. I considered bawling myself to sleep, but that would just make my body shake and jiggle my sore muscles.
It all started with my clever plan to build a tarp shelter for the sheep in their summer pasture out of hog panels, T-posts and, as you might suspect, a tarp. We had made one last year and it had worked out beautifully. Darcy was all for building a wood shelter this year, but being the more frugal half, I didn’t see any point in spending several hundred dollars on wood and roofing tin, when I could simply use the panels and T-posts we already had and have a shelter for the price of a new tarp.
I hammered in the metal T-posts; drug the 16 foot panels over and defied physics by manipulating them into place and bending them into a Quonset shape. I then did battle with the wind to drape the tarp over the panels and strap them into place with bungee cords. Two hours later I stepped back to shake my fist in victory at the wind and then turned to admire my handiwork. No question about it; I had created an eyesore of magnificent proportions.
I decided to take a break, consoling myself with the thought that it might all look different after a cup of coffee and a muffin. Maybe two cups of coffee. Maybe two muffins. I was right. When I returned to the scene the tarp shelter was completely transformed. Apparently the wind had objected to my cheeky fist shaking and managed to somehow rip the tarp loose, and then rake it repeatedly across the sharp edges of the hog panels slashing holes in my brand new tarp.
After I phoned Darcy at work and told him to bring home some lumber and tin I set about digging up all the T-Posts and taking down what was left of the shelter. Looking at the mangled tarp I was suddenly struck with inspiration. I would use it to smother the grass – okay, dandelions – next to the foundation of our house, then cover it with rocks and make a beautiful rock garden
Thrilled with my new plan I immediately set to work, once again fighting the wind to lay out the tarp. Now where to get the rocks? I eyed up our pond – a generous description for a large indent by the house that has never lived up to my imagination. The liner we put in it leaks and now it only holds water after a three day rain. I would use the rocks from around the pond for my new rock garden and then get someone to come in with a cat, level the pond and make a terrific new garden spot where the pond used to be.
For the rest of that hot, windy afternoon I lugged rock after rock from the pond to the house and carefully arranged them on the tarp. The heavier ones I rolled into place on my hands and knees. It was back breaking work, but the results were worth it. Why hadn’t we done this sooner?
“Because having the pond there helps divert water from running under our foundation when it rains and all those rocks you moved in front of the house are just going to be in the way when I plough snow in the winter,” Darcy said on his arrival home, taking an involuntary step backwards when he saw the look on my face. Then, in an act of either incredible bravery or extreme stupidity, he added, “Hey, at least you got a little exercise today.”
I swear, if I had a muscle left to my name not a jury in the world would convict me.
Shannon McKinnon is a humour columnist from the Peace River country. You can reach her at contact@shannonmckinnon.com
-30-
