For weeks now we have been ripping out our front lawn (well, if I'm being honest the whole exterior of our house) and today was looking like it would be no different. T, my main squeeze, had just spent hours out back prying out the delapitated remains of a termite infest apricot tree. Alas, no sweet apricot jam for me this summer but c'est la vie. Not only do termites equate to bad news bears for our home, it was also fuggly as hell. And as our wedding will be taking place in that back yard, it had to go.
Back to where I was going with that. While T was taking a moment to sit and bask in his tree tromping success, our dear friend and construction compatriot R stopped by. And as usually happens a quick drive by "hey, how's it goin?" became a "Let's go fill the truck with dirt!" You see, our front lawn is a war zone. Well, perhaps not technically a war zone, but I swear the trenches we have out there could serve our armed forces well. One such trench spanned three feet wide, two feet deep, and twenty four feet long. The unfortunate result of the homes previous owners having a love affair with crappy concrete, and us removing it. Did I mention the trench happened to be by our sidewalk? Can anyone say "accident waiting to happen"?