I’m not sure what got into me, but my husband gently (OK, loudly and with hands resting upon hips) pointed out to me the other night that in fact he HAS tended plants, many plants, and in fact he’s the sole reason that any landscaping has survived on our property since we moved in.

We have azalea bushes that were dig up (by him!) and now line the flowerbeds in front of the house, cherry laurel trees and sago palms comprising our “tree-fence” on the property line, cedar and pine trees that were lovingly relocated to strategic (neighbor-blocking) spots in the yard, and other assorted greenery, all kept alive with soaker hoses and sprinklers and used coffee grounds and hope.

I made some noise about embellishment for comic effect, but the fact is that somehow when I was writing that last post, I simply forgot about the work that went into the yard we’ve got. I was so buried under the yard I want us to have that I neglected to consider where we came from:

That’s the back of the house pre-yard. Here’s the back post-yard. (I should mention that every bit of this sod is now dead. But we have a lovely green carpet of weeds ads ground cover)

But now there’s a deck at the sliding glass door, and some yard sale score patio furniture. Oh, hell. I’ll take some pics today while we’re PLANTING OUR GARDEN IN THE RAIN and show you the current state of the yard. Because I know how interested you all are.

OK, and here are a few before and afters of the front, to show the azaleas.

Oh no. I don’t think I have before pics.

But here’s a kind of cool shot of the property before anything was done:

Any of these pics will take you to flickr where you can see the House set. I added a ton of shots we thought we’d lost, of the bulldozers clearing land and the erection of the playset and fence, etc.

I remember people telling us how when you own a home, the work never ends. You’re never satisfied; there’s always a new project. I was sure we’d be different, if only because we’re just much lazier than anyone I know.

But here we are today, putting on sweaters and rainboots so that we can go out there and plant fucking vegetables, weed and mulch the flowerbeds, and put organic fertilizer (did you know that “organic fertilizer” means “8 dollar bag of cowshit”? I didn’t.) over the (dead) grass. My friend recently said yard work is like mini-yoga for her. I wanted to kill her and buy her a plane ticket to Florida for a 3 month yoga retreat at Chez Page-Luft.

For me? Yard work is filler on the way to wine-thirty.