On Rockin' Out the Serenity...

I stared into the green-tinged blackness, and it stared back with vengeance and glee, certain in its imperviousness. Its foliage was its weapon of choice and it brandished silence like the veils of a belly dancer seducing a sheik. I hefted my shovel in my right hand, my shears in my left--if it could show off its weapons so brazenly, the least I could do was manage mine like a man.

As I stepped toward the jungle, thick with its glossy ivy's and dappled shade, the shears did their work, clearing away the debris of nature and failed gardening's of a generation past. Large roots from the Japanese cherry tried in vain to hinder my progress, strange alien-limbed bugs emerged from under leaves and rocks, and even though a salamander even stopped in for a guest appearance, eventually I found bare earth before me. Earth worms writhed in the sun light much like vampires and I started about the task of moving any I happened to spot. Eventually, however, I had to move on to the task at hand: create a decent and humane way of getting from the front yard to the side yard that didn't involve poison ivy, ticks, concrete chunks, or berry stains. Step one was now complete, and although I was very tempted to call it a day, a slightly chilly breeze and the yellowing leaves of the cherry warned of the impending deadline fast approaching.

Just to the left of the cherry I started a pile two years ago of various sized rocks and boulders (nothing Paul Bunyan would fret over, mind you, but boulders all the same...). I began to methodically move them to the right of the tree onto my patch of bare earth, separating flat ones from round, chunky from oblong. I then re-separated them by color, giving into my failed perfectionism with the reasoning that a randomly-placed look could only be achieved through non-random selection (like, duh!)

After arranging them to my satisfaction (not to mention OCDs proud delight), I pulled my leather gloves up tight, gripped my shovel with a determination Clint Eastwood would have swooned over, and slammed the tool down with such force Thor would have wept at its beauty...

Clunk! "Yeeeoooowwwwwch!!!"

There seemed to be a problem with my dirt, however. Ten minutes of waiting for my arms to stop shaking and a closer inspection of the area where I wished to start my project later, I realized that the failed gardenings of the past generation included a small cement patio under a half inch of soil roughly two and a half feet wide by six feet long... Flat as a pancake, hard as stone, it nevertheless managed to camouflage its presence under that half inch of soil with a profusion of weeds and grasses so healthy looking as to make my vitamin water seem shamefully inadequate.

Step two was going to be even rougher than I thought: either ignore this cement patio and move my staircase two feet to the left, or move the whole staircase I meant to build three feet to the right and use this as a landing--which also meant I would have to rebuild the end of the flower bed along the side of the house...

I moved it to the right and rebuilt the flower bed... Of course...

But after two Saturdays and several hours-long visits from the now-retired babysitter of Jesus who lives across the street from me and fancies himself a better mason then myself ("You should flip that one over," "You sure that you want that one there?", "That looks too large for that spot," and so on...), I am the proud new owner of a rock staircase wide enough to accommodate some well-placed flower pots and still have plenty of room to utilize for walking to and from the front and side yards... Since I've taken these photos, there are also now some small solar-powered lights adding ambient glow late into the evening, adding a serenity usually reserved for those who've seen the tunnel but came back to tell about it (i.e. Shirley McClaine) just in case we ever doubted serenity could exist without solar-powered garden lights...

As if...