It is as simple as this: I am not cut out for manual labor. I was partially convinced after last week's blacksmith class--I swung (swang?) a two-pound hammer for most of three hours and my arm was spaghetti-like by the end of the evening. Earlier this week I started on my latest project, one that truly just needs a strong back. My landlord asked me to fill in low spot where he had removed a shed. I calculated that I would need about eight yards of black dirt to accomplish this and the pile of dirt was delivered. I started the other night and today I really attacked it.
Well, I tried. Though I felt virtuous for the hard work and honest sweat, my four hours of shovel work didn't complete the task. Notice I said felt and not feel. The good feeling passes, I think, when you stop and try and do something else, like taking a picture. These were taken before shoveling because after 20+ wheelbarrows of good black dirt, my arms weren't steady enough for pictures. What a wimp.
And I am still not done with that _!)@*!@# pile of dirt! I think I am about 2/3s done with it. Oh well. Exercise for another day. If I keep this up maybe my butt will no longer be the size of Kansas. I'm aiming for Connecticut...
The photos are of a bush/tree/shrub right in front of my door. The potential blossoms were about the size of a pea. The magenta flowers were from another bush/tree/shrub that is also along the house. The other photo is of more hostas, I think. If I am getting the identification correct on these, I have 11 different kinds--I felt proud of that diversity until I looked them up and found out that there hundreds of different kinds. My yard isn't even on any list as some people collect them. Who knew?
I am done with that work today and have to do other work. That's ok. At least I don't usually need a shovel for my normal work.
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