Last one done...

Mostly, I sat on the couch clutching Amos today.  Thinking.  Okay...and weeping.

One thought that has been rather sobering and a bit shameful is how grateful I am that I was able to sell my home and leave.  My old neighborhood flooded last night.

My first home purchase was a bit of a discouragement for me.  I learned all the wrong lessons or rather the hard lessons.  For one, I learned about disclosures...after the fact.  No one told me about them.  My realtor was not all that helpful...not all that forth-coming on several items. Had I received a disclosure, I would have learned about the blocked sewage pipe in the front yard.  The one that cost me $15,000 to repair not all that long after becoming a homeowner.  In some ways, I feel like some things about the home purchase were bait and switch type stuff.

When I sold, I was very honest about the many upgrades that I had effected and the on-going issue of water in the basement.  The neighborhood flooded in 2006, and my home was spared.  I had some water, the way I had had before with strong rains, but no flooding like many of my neighbors endured.  So many opinions I gathered; the common consensus was that I need a french drain system, that the water was a drainage issue.  The good part about the home was that there was a drop-off of several feet between the back of the house and the end of the back yard, with an additional larger drop-off just on the other side of the alley.  So, I was just outside of a flood plain.

I sold for much less than the house was worth, which bothered me.  But, as I noted recently realized that in the sale, I was able to pay for my mortgage here for a year and cover my moving costs.  That is a remarkable gain to me.

The County sent a cadre of Army Corp Engineers to study the flooding in 2006.  A plan was chosen amongst three options.  And nothing happened.  The federal government wanted the County to pay.  The County wanted the federal government to pay. Five years later, that stand-off has cost many their homes and possessions...again.  Cars piled up.  Rescue boats retrieving stranded folk.  Homes ruined.

Because I was able to sell, I lost nothing in the flood.  Because I was able to sell, I was not evacuated last night, left scrambling to find a play to stay.  Because I was able to sell, I am not facing such devastating circumstances.  I move, and my old neighborhood was socked with big snow, an earthquake, and now flooding.  I move, and I have had nothing but favorable weather (save for the same three-week dome heat wave much of the country experienced) and easy circumstances (pit bull attack not withstanding), by comparison. 

A part of me has spent the day in a bit of shock and guilty relief over what I escaped in the move.  I do not wish ill on the next homeowner, but I am VERY grateful it is not I who is faced with the overwhelming problems flooding brings.

Such a swirl of emotions in my heart.  Such a whirlwind of thoughts filling my mind.

I wanted very much to log back on and see how those whom I have come to care about on Facebook are faring.  Yet the hurt and the fear of yesterday stayed my hand.  To distract myself as I felt as if I were drowning again, I dragged Amos outside to sit in the yard while I tackled the last bed that needed tending.

It is the one at the front, left side of the house as you face it.  The one that had the trumpet vine I chopped down. The one that had the beleaguered ferns I tried to rescue.  All summer long, I have battled trumpet vine shoots and those ferns struggled to survive.  My goal: dig up eight inches of dirt in the entire bed in an effort to rip out all the roots from those shoots and hack away on the stump that I had left.  The bed is about two feet wide and ten or so feet long.  I felt I could do this, having recovered somewhat from working too hard on Tuesday digging the ditch for the electrician and ripping out the ground cover from the bed to the left of the back steps, planting the bushes, and spreading more mulch.

I told myself just eight inches deep.  No more no matter what I found.  In that goal, I succeeded.

I had thought to get out the chain saw and try to fire it up again to get at the stump, but since I exposed it, I was able to stand on it and move it from side to side until it broke.  I am not sure if that is enough, but what is left is covered by eight inches of dirt and four inches of mulch. I am hopeful.

I did end up with an entire yard waste bag of shoot roots and trimmings from the small holly bush on the front corner of the house (it has been horribly pruned in the past and I am at a loss as to how to shape it properly).  Hauling the bag to the alley was hard, but rewarding.  Dare I claim victory over the trumpet vine for the bed?  Only time will tell.

Before starting my dig fest, I set aside the ferns.  When I was done, I replanted the ferns in a row toward the back-middle of the bed.  At the very back, I buried the gutter extension hose, but left it high so the bed slopes away from the house.  So, the back-middle of the bed is filled with a row of ferns.  In front of that, I planted the remaining 50 cent mums that I had bought, filling each hole with Osmocote and potting soil.  And, as I indicated, covered the entire bed with a generous topping of mulch.  Hopefully both ferns and mums will be happier now, between having tilled soil, the boost from potting soil and fertilizer about their roots, tucked in securely with mulch, and (hopefully) no longer plagued by trumpet vine shoots.

Amos whimpered and howled in front of the gate to the back yard the entire time.  He thought I was cruel for not allowing him to help me dig up the dirt and spread the mulch.  I wasn't up to trying to hold onto his leash while I worked.

We are at least on speaking terms today, since he achieved proper disposition of his bodily waste.  We did have words about rolling in the mulch again.  I cannot figure out why it is he loves it so.  I mean, I actually enjoy the smell of mulch, but I do manage to restrain myself from rolling about in the stuff.

To date, in the past two weeks, I have spread 33 bags of mulch. I have seven remaining.  Those will go in the beds where I am leaving the ground cover (a variegated version that is more hardy in dry conditions)--one of which is for Amos since he LOVES to lie down in the stuff.  I want to wait until the ground cover dies off for the winter. I will then till the ground a bit and cover the beds with mulch.

As far as digging up the ground cover, double-digging the bed to till it, planting replacement items, and mulching goes, today I completed my fifth and final bed.  My body will be grateful for the cessation of arduous labor.  My mind will not.  Killing myself in the yard has been helpful in getting through the first two weeks of the hiatus from my help.

Four weeks to go.  I do not see a way through that. I truly do not.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!