Best Week Ever

My parents arrived. They haven't been here in 3 1/2 years. How can that be possible? I haven't seen them in 1 1/2. Incredible. One week together. I told them to bring some work clothes. They are professionals in the yard and I have some serious projects to take on. They come with amazing attitudes and endless enthusiasm. We all 4 work out an idea for a garden. Everyone has input. We sketch it out, to scale, and write a list of things we need from the store. My aunt gives the idea of Square Foot gardening- doesn't he make it seem like such a piece of cake? Well, it's not.

We start out on Monday utilizing perfect sized redwood from that damn playset that has been rotting in the middle of our backyard. We feel great about both taking down the playset as well as reusing it for a very practical purpose. We measure, saw, and nail each of the 3 boxes. By we, I mean Dad. I stand on the boards while he saws to keep them steady. Reminds me of standing on the ice cream maker back in 1973 while he churned the dasher. Then we go shopping for supplies- weed mat, fencing to keep out my veggie eating dog, compost and other soil materials. Monday night we start to rip up the sod. We decide to rent a sod cutter the next morning and save us a lot of time and body ache.

Sod cutters rock. Other than jiggling you to death and being deafening, they cut sod like butter- perfect strips of grass clinging to a layer of dirt, just enough to survive. We cut the sod for our space in 45 minutes.
We roll the sod up under a tree for shade and hope it lives until we can find it a new home. Next is measuring out where the boxes will live. This is so systematic I can hardly stand it. I want to just throw those boxes *about* where I think they should be, but I refrain and we measure around them for easy mobility for people as well as wheelbarrows. I know the time spent now will be worth it in the end, so I resist my sloppy urges. First real stumbling block: where do the sprinkler lines run? We need to dig holes for the posts and do not want to spend most of our time repairing leaks. This, my friends, is more difficult than it sounds. What seems like a logical place for a line is not the reality.

We figure out the sprinkler lines finally the next day. We also are fortunate to have someone come out at that time and mark all of the utility lines so we don't get executed. After yet another trip to the store, we have a brand new post hole digger so my dad can stop rubbing all of the skin off his knees trying to pull dirt and rocks out of the hole with his hand. While my dad digs, my mom and I lay weed mat, mix the soil and fill the boxes. This sounds like pleasant work, but let me tell you, it's still work. I'm starting to feel buff again.


My dad gets half of the fence done and we don't finish our tasks, but it's time for dinner, so we rush into the shower and change. And by we showering, I mean my parents. I run out of time and find myself wiping off most of the dirt with just a wet washcloth, throwing on a dress, flattening my hair and squirting on some perfume to help cover my earthy, sweaty, nasty smell. I think for the 15 minutes I had, I look damn good. We are late--J's biggest pet peeve--but it's a Wednesday, so there aren't people waiting for tables.

We eat one of the finest meals I've eaten in a long time. I think it was enhanced by the manual labor. Mom and I split the most delicious dessert. I am feeling satisfied.

The next morning we only have a couple of hours before I have to take my parents to the airport. Where did the time go? This was the shortest, most grueling week, but one of the best visits I've ever had. The one thing I learned this week: I am exactly like my parents. Strengths, weaknesses, the whole shebang. And you know what? I'm ok with that. I think they are pretty kick ass people- not just parents. Unfortunately, I have broken my dad's back. Poor guy- he's whipped. For the first time ever I hear him say that he can't keep working. He's going to have to leave the fence for J and I to finish. Wow. See, people keep growing, no matter how old they are.

I drop them off at the airport with big hugs and promises that the next time they come out I won't subject them to slave labor. We'll see...