It’s done. And I can barely move. I have muscles that ache in all the strangest places. Triceps, biceps, between my ribs. Calves, thighs. I swear there is not a part of me that doesn’t think lying down for a day would be a good idea.
But I am so thrilled it’s over. And sometimes that is the best feeling there is.
My little whimsy of a landscaping project is as complete as it’s going to be for a while.
The challenge for this entire area is to hide it from the full glare of anyone looking at the mountain. It was always an eyesore. And I knew the plastic was going to have to go back. But back onto a weed free and most importantly, bramble free slope.
I haven’t got the slope quite right. I ought to have taken off more of the curve of the mountain. But right now I’m happy with ‘good enough’.
Some people have heavy clay, (Lisa, I feel your pain) and some of us have wonderfully free draining soil with stones that you hit with every fork thrust. They are a devil to shift.
And another reason why I don’t think I’m going for more than ‘good enough’ is I don’t think I could move all those heavy chestnut pickets one more time. (I need to fill in the gaps with smaller logs when next we haul a load of chestnut from the forest.)
They came from the vineyard. Way down the mountain. And with David’s help, each one was thrown further down the mountain to the edge of the road. Then they were loaded into the back of the station wagon (five trips) and driven up to the very top of the farm.
Unloaded. Thrown up hill this time. And then placed against the relaid black plastic.
And then I made the mistake of popping up to town to get bread and a bit more plastic from Gamm Vert to cover the last two metres of potager edge.
And Daniel, the boss, said he had more pallets for me if I fancied them.
Do I?! Yes please. (Timing was far from billiant, but I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.)
So he used the fork lift to get them into the car. I used every muscle I own to get them out. And then I built two new compost bins. One behind the potting shed. And one up here in the potager. If I’m ever bored, I’ll paint them. But they will fade in time.
It is tucked right in the far corner so it’s discreet. And to get it there required yet more soil excavations and yet more rock shifting.
And yes, Artur was a great little helper on this last day. He kept racing up and sitting on my kneeling pad – just when I needed to use it. But luckily he has found a new box in the potting shed with a stack of fleece. So that should keep him quiet for a week.