It started with three small bins of mulch that a neighbor was giving away. Before I had a chance to decide where to put it, a tree trimming service called with an offer I could not refuse.
“We have half a truckload of mulch to give away. It’s pretty good stuff.”
“Sure, I’ll take it,” I replied, having no idea how much mulch equaled half a load. I have a big yard with lots of weeds on the rampage this time of year. I was already tired of digging and pulling them. Covering them up seemed a great option.
Then I left town with a small note indicating where the mulch was to be dumped. I learned that the hard way when a few years ago a load of mulch was dumped in my single car driveway and I could not get my car out of the garage.
When I got home a few days ago, there was a big pile awaiting me beside my driveway. It looked like a lot. It was. I am now on day four of hauling around wheelbarrows of the stuff, dumping and spreading it. Current count: a total of 71 loads moved.
The pile is shrinking. I probably have about 20 loads to go—maybe more. This morning, at load 10, it began to rain. I was grateful.
My yard looks better. My body knows it has done something. There are wood chips everywhere; inside my gloves, sticking to my pants, inside my shoes, on my kitchen floor.
I hope it keeps raining for a while.