Yard Work

On a fall morning rain disappeared for a few hours and I went to work on my friends’ yard.

I dug up a pear tree and replanted it.

I dug up a pear tree and replanted it.

I dug up a rhododendron and replanted it.

I transplanted oregano into three pots.

I planted a hydrangea.

I pruned a Harry Lauder tree.

I moved a bird bath.

I winterized the garden plot.

The work concluded and the work felt good.

For services rendered, I bartered for two excellent pieces of beaverwood from my friend’s collection.

My final act of yard work was to throw my muddy tennis shoes into the garbage. They were finally dead. I’d done just about everything in them the last 25 years: beach comb, teach, cook, rocked out. I damn near shed a tear for my beloved green Pumas. They were a special pair of shoes.