Back to the yard

I was waist deep in yard stuff (not the smelly kind) this weekend since hubby was toiling at the office and couldn't distract me from my Yard Visions with inappropriate groping and jokes at my expense. I set out to get a replacement tomato plant (my seedlings keep croaking despite my desperate pleas) and a "few flowers" to brighten up the front yard and managed to come home with a trunk full of "where the hell am I going to put this?"



Bright side was (as though coming home with a trunk full of plants wasn't enough) that I was able to test out the plant carrying capacity of Ms. Leeloo and thus prove her ultra-fabulousness in yet another way. See, I can justify any purchase. Try me, people.

By the end of the day, and after some eventful digging (I need to do a photo montage of the random crap I dig up in my yard) and not unstrenuous labor, all our friends were in their happy homes. Granted, there is much more to be done, but for now, at least we have some flowers, and that is better than the miniature prehistoric forest we had mutating beneath our soil before. You think I'm kidding? There are tiny plastic creatures from the Mesozoic era popping up in the yard every time we have the gall to sink a shovel in there. I think the Pangea split started in our backyard.

These are violas. Don't act like you can't tell.

OK, so I also got a replacement cucumber.

Did you know that Better Boy tomatoes were widely available as seedlings in Norcal? Yeah, see, I did not. That is why I was torturing myself with seeds. Prissy, "waaa! it's too cold" seeds. Uh, no more. Here's a nice established replacement plant.

Impulse purchases #1 and #2. Spanish lavender and lemon thyme. They can smell my weakness when I get close and they just jump into my cart. There's nothing I could do! Seriously.

This is Biggie. He's not new. Just scary. He's already trying to set fruit. I need a whip and a chair. STAT!

Beyond all the S&M planting going on, I also managed to tame the lawn with hubby's sidekick, the mower, water all my neglected potted plants and weed the Back 40 (closer to Back 1/40th), as we call it around the Finny house. Once all that was accomplished, I sat my tired, sweaty Gnarly (pronounced Gee-Narly) ass down in a patio chair and watched my recently returned finches ravage the feedbag.



Even my aching hamstrings could do this every day.