Yesterday I had the brilliant idea to fill our garden boxes with dirt.
Our boxes are big. Four feet by eight feet by two feet. They hold lots of dirt. (For those of you counting, that’s 64 cubic feet each. Or more than two cubic yards.)
We expected to need five yards to do it right. Or at least 4.5.
So we borrowed a trailer from family, loaded it with dirt, and halfway home blew out (as in a six inch slash) one of the tires.
While it was raining.
We tried to save ourselves: Home Depot wouldn’t rent use a truck and trailer, half the ward was out to dinner or didn’t pick up their phones.
So we started trying to get the trailer off and just let it sit there till today.
Then someone called back.
Willing to help. And not only willing to help, willing to finish the job we’d intended to start: get the dirt in the planter boxes.
So in the rain we shoveled from one trailer to the other, brought the dirt home, wheeled it through a mud-slogged yard, and dumped it into one of the boxes.
We filled one about two thirds full with that troublesome dirt.
We expect the food grown in that box to be better than whatever else we grow this year. A lot more effort was put into it.