shovel

If I were paid for my labors by the hour today, at the end of it all, I would not be rich. If I were paid by the effort put into it, I'd be a millionaire.

It was a beautiful November day. I mean, I cannot oversell it -- mostly sunny, windy, not too cold.

Morning -- well, that was given over to breakfast...





... and then, unfortunately, to school work.

But afternoon? We are out  digging and hauling...





...and digging and hauling.


We have made significant progress this year in rebuilding the land around the farmette structures. Ed wonders about the future maintenance of it all, but I remind him that we're front-loading the work. Maintenance should be nothing, by comparison to what we're doing now.





In the late evening, all I can do is to hack away at anything that is still visible in the fading light. We will leave undisturbed clumps of berries (without replanting them in rows). But invasive vines and stumps have to be removed. I strain my eyes and then finally, I throw down the shovel and retreat.

And when I sit down, believe me, it will take a lot to get me to move again.