MulchMania

So I had this really long post all queued up yesterday and of course the hosting site lost it so here I am starting over. It really is painful to have to rehash. I have been horribly busy lately and I do mean the term horribly just because between work and home and getting ready to travel I have not had an opportunity to take a sustained breath much less update everyone else on what we have been doing. I have had Journey to Maya (Pt III) written and ready for editing for some time; hopefully it will simmer in its own juices and be ready to go before we leave.

For starters:

5/11 Chicago/Beijing UA851 Lv. 1230P, Ar. 225P on 5/12
5/25 Hong Kong/Chicago UA896 Lv. 1245P, Ar. 222P

That's right, hooked up and logged in. The flight is 13 hours long, and they are both direct. We have a short jump from Guanzhou to Hong Kong on the 25th, but then we settle in for the long flight home. C has gotten almost everything packed for Maya and we will finish ourselves this coming weekend.

An exciting aspect of our homecoming is that my Mom, my step dad and brother Rob are all coming up to help us when we get back. They are amazing for meeting us at the airport and helping us transition to parenthood.

So this past weekend; instead of lugging 60 bags of mulch out of Home Depot; we decided to finish our front and back yard landscaping by having mulch dumped in our driveway and we would wheelbarrow it to where it was needed and dump. So, I am on the phone with the Mulchwoman and she starts asking me all of these questions:

MW: So how much do you need?
K: Uh, a backyard's worth?
MW: Seriously?
K: Do you measure it in...uh...wheelbarrows?
MW: No, sweetie, it is in cubic yards

OK, picture yourself male talking about male things (math and dirt) and tell me you would not be intimidated not knowing the answer. Now, think about your back yard, cut it down to about 20% coverage 2 inches deep and then convert that mental picture into a cubic yard.

So, like most guys (and women) in this situation I came up with the obvious response without a instant of hesitation:

K: OK, how much does it cost?
MW: Which one?
K: The backyard stuff.
MW: Have you done this before?
K: No, I just want mulch.
MW: Well we have the red, brown, gold, sticks, half blend, premium blend, clay...
K: Hmmm. That is interesting, all those choices. What is the premium blend?
MW: That's a semi-fine brown texture perfect for edging and general purpose gardening.

Now, this woman was getting way into the description. I could just picture her at home in her climate-controlled mulch room with her aged oak and cypress barklets (yes, that is a mulch term) creating a gentle bed for slumber while the musty vapors of aroma hang like pinecones in mountain tree stand.

So, as with many things I do not understand I made the decision based on price knowing that I can convince myself that I like it and I ended up getting 8 cubic yards.

Mulchwoman's instructions were to put a tarp out on the driveway for the drop zone. I did as she instructed and went to work. C and I take the commuter train downtown most days. That night we came home and were walking toward the house when we could smell the premium richness of Mulchwoman's personal stash before we saw it.

We turned the corner and the tarp was gone. It was completely covered in an avalanche of tree dumpings. It looked like tree around the driveway vomited on our asphalt. NOw, trust me on this, unless you are opening your own state park consisting of miles and miles of trails, you do not need 8 yards of mulch. From what I remember of the tarp it now looked like a postage stamp compared to the mound.

The best part? Yours truly put the tarp for the "drop zone" right behind our car, yes our only car. The car that does not have four-wheel drive capability to go over or a scooter-sized footprint to get around it. It was completely mulched in.

So, didn't think about it that night or the fact that we were due up in Wisconsin that afternoon to see friend’s of ours. The next morning I pulled the snow shovel out from the shed. (Actually it was still sitting on the back porch, I know it’s now May, we strive to keep a little bit of Cape Girardeau wherever we go) I tried to scoop it up, but it wasn't really cooperating. Mulch doesn't really move like snow, it does o nt compress as cleanly or want to be lifted easily. It's like when you are sitting at the dinner table and you try to use your knife to pick up the wine bottle.

After a couple of hours I had made a little progress but not much. My next-door neighbor is a super brain and a mechanical genius that used to be an engineer. His back deck is actually on a cantilever system so he can lift half of his back porch up to get into his basement. (This is the same guy that I have the Xmas light wars with every year -he doesn't know we are competing)

The neighbor brought over a pitchfork. I thought these only existed in movies where they are chasing monsters like Frankenstein or Dick Cheney. He brought it over and of course I refused thinking there is no way this could be better than my snow shovel. He knows what he is doing, he did the siding by himself on his own house. I refused it a second time as required by the manly code but quickly agreed to the third offer. He gave me the tool and walked away shaking his head; I tried to convince myself that he must have water in his ear.

Well the pitchfork sank into the pile and made the work twice as fast. I was able to get the pile down to only covering half the driveway and with a little effort could squeeze the car out. By the end of the day I had calluses all over my hand and I never wanted to pitchfork anything ever again.

We went up to Wisconsin and had a great time hanging out with friends, drinking New Glarus beer and playing with the Test Kid. When someone really knows what they are doing with BBQ, it is so phenomenal. We had ribs that had been smoking for 4-5 hours. She is pregnant and he was on sinus medicine so we actually went to bed at a decent hour. We got up and left fairly early stopping for groceries on the way home; something to eat to fuel me through the pile.

The second problem with the mulch is that me, being the super genius that I am, made the drop zone right in the middle of the driveway. In my bravado I thought it would be no problem to knock this out over the weekend. C's Dad and a friend of the family both park in our driveway during the week and walk to the train station. My pile’s position only left room for one person to park. I was duty bound to finish this before the day was over.

Then it started to rain.

Wet mulch is ungodly. It should serve as a literary metaphor to describe other unfortunate events:

She collapsed in his arms, breathless; bosom heaving waiting for his sweet lips to kiss hers and quench her thirst and tempered desire with one soft caress. He hesitated and spoke:
"Damn, woman, you are as heavy as wet mulch, but you have nice barklets."

For the next couple of hours, in the rain, I forked mulch into the wheelbarrow, pushed it 30 feet into the back yard and dumped it. I repeated this process about 42 times until I ended up with the pile below. In this picture you can see the mulch and see our backyard. Keep in mind I have already used about half the pile and only have about 1/3 of the yard to go.

I am open for suggestions for what to do with the rest; the more creative the better. I am thinking about building a huge nest in the backyard and creating some paper machie eggs to freak out the people on the train as they go by. Well, said train is pulling into the station and I need to get the yard ready for round two of Mulchmania.