We are filthy. We are tired. We are sore. We never knew we had most of the muscles that are screaming at us at the end of this day. But every shred of Bermuda grass that we didn't pull out of the ground with our bare hands is at the bottom of twelve inches of mixed-together sandy fill soil and mushroom compost.
The seeds are ordered. The boxes are ready. Spring, anyone?
1 comment:
yes please!
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