I am such a wimp. It's a beautiful day here today, so Greg and I decided it was time to tackle raking the yard. We've lived in this house for ten springs now and Greg power raked the yard once in all of that time. We had never raked the yard by hand.
How is that possible, you may ask? Well, since our subdivision is pretty new, there aren't many trees. We have one big tree in the corner of our lot and we're glad to have it, but the rest of the yard is relatively bare of greenery (though it's growing in now). We do get lots of leaves blown in from other yards in autumn, but we've found over the years that if you just leave things, the leaves will blow along to other yards. And our house was new when we moved in, so we were the ones who established the lawn.
This was an amazingly snowy winter, and the grass really looked beat down when the snow finally melted. It was clear that we would need to get some of the dead grass out of the lawn, especially since we have a mulching mower. So this morning, despite the fact that Greg feels like death-warmed-over, we started to rake the front yard.
I was outside for about 10 minutes when Greg brought me a pair of work gloves. I was outside for about 20 minutes when I found that even with gloves on, I'd peeled off a piece of skin on my right thumb. It stung. My hands are that delicate and insubstantial that I couldn't even handle raking for half an hour. I felt better when Greg showed me that he'd peeled off a piece of skin in the exact same spot on his left hand.
My grandfather farmer would be so ashamed.
2 comments:
Silly kids. Hire it done.
Yeah, if Stoughton has a Taco Bell, maybe Greg can work out a "rake for food" deal with the next transient he runs into.
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