monkey grass and more

We've started the process of reclaiming our backyard. It's been long-neglected but we're finally making progress. 

Alongside the garage (an area previously called The Mud Pit), we planted five Green Mountain Boxwood bushes and 10 little Monkey Grasses. They have a real name, but Monkey Grass is just more fun to say. More to come this month!

The Mud Pit, before

...and after.

yards that make my yard look good

Dear Neighbors,

You are so kind. I can't believe the lengths you've gone to to make your own front yards look disastrous so that our long-neglected yard appears halfway decent in comparison. Such a thoughtful, selfless gesture on your parts. From the bottom of our grass-infested dandelions, thank you.

Love,

Devon

woman vs. wild

The chipmunks had to be stopped. They were cute last year, bounding across the backyard, popping their furry little faces up out of the grass.

Then, they dug a tunnel into the garage, churning up a pile of dirt so high it covered the lawn mower gas cans. Then, they developed a massive subterranean labyrinth through our yard. They dug through my bell pepper plant, unearthing it entirely. Then they started in on the flower beds, as evidenced by exhibit A below.


Like I said, they had to be stopped. What follows can be classified as inhumane. Call me Hitler, because that's who I feel like. I hope PETA is not reading.

Exhibit B, below, is an invention of my father's: a utility bucket filled with water; a few handfuls of floating birdseed; and a convenient onramp. In short, a death trap for chipmunks. I don't think I need to tell you how it works.

This morning, I found not one but two furry little creatures doing the dead man's float. God forgive me.

home alone

Ryan's on vacation in Hilton Head, so my self-imposed weekend challenge was to be the man of the house. This consisted of:

1. Mowing the yard
2. Fixing the storm door
3. Investigating the ceiling leak in the basement...all without the aid of Boyfriend, Dad or Brothers.

Part 1. After successfully mowing the backyard, I get a little cocky. That was so easy it was actually fun! Then I maneuver to the front, where I proceed to sweat on and swear at that ancient piece of crap for 30 minutes, pulling the cord until I thought my shoulder was dislocated. I cheat and call Dad."Maybe you knocked the blade out of alignment when you hit that dirt mound." Maybe I did. "Try hitting it back in place with a 2x4."

Just my luck that it worked fine in the backyard, where no one could see me. But out here — with everyone in Broad Ripple driving by — I'm a red-faced skinny girl whacking an old mower with spare lumber. Then my neighbor Jerry walks over. The mower was a hand-me-down from him, so he feels responsible when anything goes wrong with it (which happens often). Jerry is about 70; I often hear him yelling at his dogs to shut up. Today he's got duct tape wrapped around one shoe and a huge hole ripped in his shirt.

Jerry: "Did you check the gas?"
Me: Pause. "If it just needs gas, I'm going to feel really stupid."
Jerry: Unscrews gas cap. "Guess you're stupid."
Part 2. "Fixing" the storm door turned out to be damn near impossible, so I settled for removing the problem. Took the door off its hinges and only then did I realize it weighed enough to crush me. But I managed a precarious method of "walking" the door down the driveway, rocking the weight back and forth and using the bottom corners like pivot points.




Part 3. I don't even want to tell you about the basement ceiling. I attempted to poke a "small hole" to help the water drain. I made it worse. Points for trying?

a side of pumpkin

I didn't know this could happen, but something has been eating our pumpkin.


I have a sneaking suspicion that it is Chunk, the big squirrel previously blogged about. I named him Chunk.


That's right, he's named after the Goonies kid. See the resemblance?