The Heavy Looking-On

Grampa Mac had a designation for a person who didn't quite pull their weight at a given task: according to him that man--whether hired or volunteer 'help'--was 

'doing the heavy looking-on.' 

The term could also apply to a female who stood, arms wrapped in her apron, and instructed the menfolk how best to do what they were already doing.

When Jim and I work together on a project, I often feel that while he is doing the 'skilled labor' I am merely holding the end of a board to be sawn, trotting off to fetch something, sweeping up the debris.

The current project is no different.

I do take credit for the grand idea! 

The raised bed plantings I hoped to maintain near the front door have not worked out as I imagined.

Howard and Jim obliged me several years ago by laying out pressure-treated timbers and hauling dirt. I raised plants from seed, bought a few more at my favorite nursery. The seedlings of Michaelmas daisies [aka asters] blue prairie flax, achillea, and blackberry lilies planted in the east-facing bed under the kitchen window immediately leaned into the light, grew rankly into a colorful but untidy tangle. The planting at the side of the steps fared little better. A nursery plant of common sage [salvia officinalis] became a sprawling shrub spilling onto the walkway, obliterating lavender, thyme and germander set in nearby. 

Extra seedlings of coneflower and the asters in shades of purple, rose and dusty pink were bunged into the smaller strip for want of any other place to put them. 

They took over!

During this long hot summer I began making noises to the effect that a deck at the side of the house would be an upgrade in curb appeal, eliminating plantings that were clearly out of control.

Jim said, 'Why do you want a deck? You wouldn't sit on it!'

Jim, prodded toward an idea that didn't originate with him, can turn balky, so I let the suggestion rest for a bit.

[Jim's Mom always maintained that if a woman can drop the seed of an idea into the male brain, let it germinate and take root until he believes the plan originated with him, then the woman in question can respond with delighted enthusiasm and praise if the man 'comes up' with the desired project! It is a delicate balancing act!]

Early this week Jim announced that he 'guessed' we might as well get on with building a deck.

He instructed me that if I wanted to save any of my plants I'd best be moving them to temporary quarters.

I began on the side bed Tuesday evening, cutting back bristling gone-to-seed stalks of coneflower and the Michaelmas daisies, some of which were still in full bloom. I carried the plants one by one to the black bins near the greenhouse and tucked them into the soil. 

Jim, finishing a bowl of ice cream, poked his head out the door to ask, 'Why don't you pile them all into the wheelbarrow instead of making so many trips?' 

The wheelbarrow is old and wobbling; I usually manage to overturn it. 

Besides--I didn't think of that solution!

Having worked my way along the bed to the sage bush I began prodding around it with my garden fork. The soil seemed the consistency of cement. I exchanged the fork for a spade, at which point Jim emerged from the house and took over. He crashed about in the tangle of branches, the air redolent with the smell of bruised sage. I whipped in with the pruning clippers trying to remove dead branches.

'Get the big pruners from the shop, ' Jim directed tersely, prying at stubborn roots.

The sage bush came free finally in a welter of pruned and broken branches, dead brush and crushed leaves. 

I've given it an entire planter bin, watered it in, will do some judicious pruning and hope that it recovers.

This morning while Jim gathered tools I removed all the plants I decided to salvage from the bed along the house wall.

Using my garden fork I began lifting up the patio pavers that made a walkway along the bed. 

You'll have gathered that I do things the hard way! 

[Its undoubtedly why my back hurts constantly!]

Again, Jim had a better plan. I was told to fetch the 'dolly' stored in the shed. 

I hoiked it from behind a garden tiller and the wood splitter and trundled it out.

 I balanced the thing, Jim lifted the pavers with the point of a hoe and stacked them on the dolly.

While he moved soil, laid out timbers, I thrashed about in the wall garden, yanking out goldenrod, tangled smartweed, and a horrid prickly weed for which I haven't found a name.

I went inside and made a fresh pitcher of raspberry iced tea.

I pegged washing on the back porch lines.

I tackled an overgrowth of lemon balm by the porch corner, steadied the ends of timbers that were being leveled and screwed into place.

I haven't done much of importance to advance the project; I don't have the skills or the brawn to use the power tools or to place timbers and boards. 

I have to be content with the heavy looking on!

Bringing in the bucket loader to clear the soil from the dismantled raised bed.

Isn't it great to have a variety of tractors and equipment on hand!

Soil removed.

This is the area alongside the front walkway. 

The plants and old timbers have been removed.

 

A retaining wall going up.

 

Soil moved from one 'bed' to another.

Jim asked if I intended replanting the area now that it has been leveled. With some regret I've decided not to attempt that. 

The plan of the moment is to extend the paved area and line up my tubs there.

I would love to have decorative shrubs edging the walkway, but given my battles with weeds and over-growth it doesn't seem like something I can manage.

 Tubs dragged out of the way.

More planters and the patio pavers waiting to be repurposed.

This project is about using what we have, so the cost for materials will be minimal.

The effect of the finished deck will likely be more rustic than the elaborate decks Howard designs and builds for his customers. 

I've finished the day with various aches from my inefficient manner of moving things, along with the minor misery of a rash on both arms from pulling tall weeds and carrying them off to tip at the edge of the south ravine. 

No matter. Enthusiasm for the envisioned new look of the house front carries me along.

And the raspberry iced tea was a winner!