"In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold"

—Tennyson

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Yesterday we hauled a truckload of compost around the yard, mixed it into the garden, and raked it across the flowerbeds. Seth tinkered with the sprinkler system, Charlotte demanded to be held, and Isaiah played in the dirt, watered the flowers, and rode Charlotte's bike through the mud. We were tired and sweaty at the end of the day. The garden didn't get planted. But we're one day closer.

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