Fall Cleanup Continues

Carl and I put in a good day's work on Friday.  The temperatures were still in the sixties and there was barely enough breeze to turn the Aermotor's blades for most of the early afternoon.   The forecast was for a drastic cool-down with the possibility of snow and 30-45 mph winds as the day wore into night.  

After our noon meal,  I whipped up a batch of 'Nancy's Crockpot Soup' for supper.  The soup, named after my friend Nancy who introduced me to the recipe,  consists of green peppers, carrots, celery, tomatoes, a small head of cabbage, beef bouillon, tomato juice, one pound of browned hamburger and garlic, onion powder, black pepper, chili powder, etc. in varying amounts. I'm not very good at measuring things, I'm a toss and go cook.  Sometimes I add lentils, but today I forgot all about them.  Apparently I'm not so hot at remembering all the ingredients, either.

The slow cooker is always in action around here at least once or twice a week.  It has saved me countless hours in the kitchen and when we've put in a long day in the garden, it's such a comfort to know there's a hot meal ready and waiting for us.  

Friday's mission was to finish clearing out the east hosta bed.  My back was a little better, but still very stiff.  The good news was my sore neck had cleared up considerably, I could actually turn my head to the side a little without wincing in pain.  

As we worked together removing hostas, I was happy to see all the rocks reappearing again.  And I found my shiny mushroom family under the leaves, too.  

 I bought the ceramic mushrooms from a thrift store a few years ago for $3.  I was struck by their realistic, organic shapes; the artist did a wonderful job.

 I left Hosta 'June' standing; the foliage had turned a vibrant shade of gold and it seemed a shame to remove it. 

 As Carl and I made our way through the hosta beds, the Girls followed along, scratching for bugs and tossing the mulch around.  The hens are getting quite old now, but we still get an occasional egg now and then. 

Ebony and Sable

"Did you hear something??"

 It's fun to have them around; they're always working and clucking quietly to each other, a running poultry commentary only they understand.  The two black hens, Ebony and Sable, came to live here together and are the largest and quite tame.   As they age and molt their feathers every year, more tan feathers are becoming prevalent.  Just like me, my hens are going gray.

 Ashley, the gray and black chicken, is an Araucana-cross hen and our oldest hen. Her feathers are finally almost all grown back in for the winter.  A few weeks ago she looked like an escapee from a plucking factory.  She is probably the most intelligent of all the chickens we've owned over the years, but is also the most nervous and wary.  I guesstimate we've had Ashley over eight years already.  

 Our youngest hen is Tina.  I had some fertilized eggs given to me by my friend Sue about five years ago and stuck them under one of my late brooding hens, Francee.  Two of the three eggs turned out to be roosters (and Thanksgiving dinner that year)  and the other one was Tina.  I'm not sure what breed Tina is, she has feathers on top of her head like a Polish chicken, and feathery feet, too.  She is the size of a Bantam, being much smaller than the Ebony and Sable.  She is also quite flighty and does not trust us very much, either.   

 Francee was always jealous of Tina's 'top-notch' and used to pull all the feathers off of poor Tina's head.  When Francee died of old age two years ago, I know Tina was relieved.  She's had a full head of feathers ever since.

 The hens go all over the yard and even out into the fields usually, but today, they stayed close by.  I assume there was either a hawk or other predator lurking; I heard the blue jays making a racket and noticed the hens were under a cedar tree a few feet away from us.  They know enough to take cover, thank goodness.

 We've lost chickens to predators many times.  Ebony and Sable had a sister, Inky, whom we lost to a fox two years ago.  Opossums are also a menace, and raccoons are even worse.  Domestic dogs are also a threat, along with hawks.  A hawk will strike from above, but then cannot carry the hen off because they weigh too much, so it's a senseless loss.  I had a hawk kill a little white bantam hen years ago only to find he/she couldn't lift the carcass more than a foot off the ground.  I came out of the house on the run because I'd seen the incident and chased the hawk carrying his ill gotten gains into the woods across the road.  The hawk was exhausted by the effort of carrying the hen and didn't notice me floundering around in the underbrush at first.  Seemingly startled, he dropped the chicken and flew a few feet away, perching on a log.  I flapped my arms and shooed him off and retrieved my poor little hen.  No meal for you, buddy.  I didn't want him to get used to killing my chickens.

 

 With winter coming on, the Girls will have to get used to the coop again, but they will come out on any day that is sunny as long as I have a path shoveled.  

Anyway, back to the cleanup; Carl and I were working on the east side of the Lane bed, removing hosta and daylily foliage and recent dandelions.  A car approached from the east and slowly turned into the lane driveway.  At first I thought the driver was looking for a place to turn around, but he kept coming and turned off his ignition.  Neither of us had ever seen the elderly man before.

"Hello! Well, it's nice to see two youngsters working in the garden together," the man said.  "Why does she have kneepads and you don't?  I take it she's the boss of this outfit?" 

Carl looked at me and smiled, "Yes, she's the boss."

"I thought so!  Oh, well, you can't win 'em all, can you?  You'd better get all your work done today, the weather's going to turn, you know," he said.  "Are you still working? Or are you retired?" our visitor asked Carl.

Carl told him he was still working; retirement is still a few years off yet. 

"Ok, well, that's ok.  Say, I'm looking for any abandoned homes or farms to buy around here.   Do you know of any reasonably priced ones?  Who did you vote for?  And just how high are your property taxes?  Do you make a fair amount of money at your job?  Over 50K?  Or more, or less?  What did you say the taxes were?" 

The questions were fast-paced and intense and since we weren't forthcoming with exact amounts or direct answers, he launched into telling us about his life.  His story was interesting but hard to follow; it began with his childhood in Poland, and moved to high school, through the military and a gruesome story about the Korean War, followed up with his after- military service high-paying careers, well-paid semi-retirement gigs, and a teaching degree as a professor right up to his retirement.  And then he transitioned with a flourish back to his present situation; questioning two random gardeners about their tax burdens, income and voting preferences.

  Somewhere in the half hour conversation, he restarted his car's engine again, only to turn it off when he remembered something he wanted to say.  He teased Carl about his weight and told me I fed him too much fatty food and then told a joke about two old people who died and went to heaven only to find you can golf, live in a grand home and eat anything you want with no consequences, so the husband is mad at his wife because she made him eat bran muffins and low cal foods for decades which in turn, delayed him getting to Heaven.  

Then he restarted his car, only to shut it off again when he remembered that in between, he'd worked in Alaska selling land and for the state as a field inspector where he was paid over $50 grand a year to dig a rectangle of soil out of a site and mark it down on a piece of paper.  They wanted him to move out of state and he wasn't willing, so he went back to Poland to teach where they wanted him to only speak English instead of his native tongue.  He thought that was curious, but he did as they asked.  Somewhere in the murky timeline he ended up back in America teaching psychology.  

  Wait, why was he talking to us again?  Oh, yeah, he was looking for old, abandoned, hopefully cheap farms or houses to buy in the area for a relative who is divorced with three children and can't make a go of it on $17 bucks an hour and pay on a mortgage at the same time since her Obamacare health insurance doubled from what it cost last year. 

"Hey, you never said who you voted for," he said.  "But I guess, you're the boss here?"

 During this most interesting discourse, I'd been half-kneeling, half-sitting on my milking stool and my back was starting to ache more than ever.  I had to get up and stretch.  

"So, do you know of anything around here for sale?" he asked, shutting off his car one more time.

I told him where he could find some houses for sale and after giving us two of his professorial business cards (one had written on the bottom, 'I specialize in Bull'), he bid us a good day and backed down the lane to the road.  

"Hey, if this works out, I might be your neighbor!  Have a good day!"  

We both waved goodbye.  

Well, that was different.  You never know what will happen when we go out to work in the garden.  We've met some very interesting people over the years. 'Chubby' Carl and his equally 'fluffy' wife went back to the task at hand, clearing the garden.

Just before sunset the wind began to pick up drastically, scattering leaves and loose pots all over the yard.  The Girls headed on the run for their coop.

The cloud bank to the east reminded me of summer, but the temperature was dropping quickly.  I think this will be the last time we see those type of clouds until next spring.

 

Carl hooked the Oldsmobile up to the trailer and hauled the load of plant material to the compost pile while I picked up the tools, shut the barn door and locked the chicken coop.

The last warm sunset of the year was glorious:

When we came in the house the delicious aroma of the soup was all we needed for encouragement to shuck out of our filthy work clothes and get cleaned up for supper.  

Thank goodness for crock pots.  (And Nancy's recipe.)

 

 

Appreciating the Weather

The weather has been amazing for November.  According to the  forecast, we'd better appreciate what we have now for big changes are on the horizon.  Snow and wind and all manner of wintry wildness is on the way for Friday night.  

But there are still a few flowers in bloom the week before Thanksgiving.

My homegrown variety of Gaura AAS 'Sparkle White' from Parks Seed

  Every time I walk by the gauras, I smile.  There are remnants of summer still remaining.

After last weekend's demolition of the back yard, I've been wandering around in a bit of a stupor.  Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad the septic installation is over, but putting everything back together again is going to take some time.  I've got this sense of urgency and futility battling each other all at once.  

"You need to do something with this lawn!" my Urgent Mind says, "It's going to snow soon and you won't have anything done.  It looks like you started to put a road through the back yard and then ran out of funding."

"What do you want me to do, it's too late to plant grass, and besides, the entire area will settle," answers my Futile/Reasonable Mind, "Calm down, it will be here in the spring."

 Yeah, that's right, I have a split personality AND I talk to myself.  I feel sorry for Carl, don't you?

Speaking of Carl, he and I spent all day Sunday putting slabs of hay down on the newly constructed mound system.  We're hoping to ward off having the mound freeze solid over the winter months especially since the ground is bare.  We had some old baled hay out in the Back Eight that we're using for insulation.

Carl cut the plastic wrap for me and I'd back the forklift teeth under the bale and haul it home.

We hauled six or seven bales (I lost count) and spread them out one slab at a time on the mound.   If time permits, we will spread out some more; I don't think it will hurt.  In the spring we'll have to rake the hay off and then plant grass seed, or we might rake the seed into the grass; we'll have to see what happens over winter.

 

 We worked until darkness fell on Sunday night.  Carl took the tractor home as the moon started to rise, but I stayed behind to spread the last bale of hay out in the moonlight.  I noticed my back was a tad tight while I was working with the slabs of hay, but shrugged the pain off as a passing thing. 


I've been feeling rather lousy the last few weeks; I've got so many random issues going on that if it wasn't me going through the misery, I'd be tempted to call myself a hypochondriac.

You may or may not recall last fall, winter and spring I dealt with annoying tailbone pain and ended up being referred to four separate doctors.  End result? All four of them found nothing wrong.  This wild goose chase cost us a fortune; what a waste of time.  Finally in late spring the pain in the derriere subsided enough so I could sit for more than five minutes, but I do have to be careful not to aggravate it.  

 Then we had umpteen garden walks and visitors again this year and I did fairly well health-wise, at least I didn't tip over when I was giving tours or anything.  But the last week in August I stupidly became dehydrated while cutting hay with the bush hog in the Back Eight.  I knew I should have taken breaks in the hot weather but neglected to.   The end result of my silliness was a monumental bladder infection.  After obtaining antibiotics, I was cured of the infection but the symptoms raged on for another two months. Talk about misery; I did an internet search looking for cures and came across supplements quercitin and bromelain and also marshmallow root which seemed to help quite a bit.  (No, you can't just chow down on 'Jet Puffed' 'Smores' along with a Hershey bar, that would be too much fun.)                      

In September I'd been started on a IV protocol which is in trial status for chronic Lyme disease.  Chronic migraines and scintillating scotomas abounded last fall and winter, but I can thankfully say I haven't had a headache or bladder issues since my third treatment.  Halfway through my round of IV's though, the trial was ended pending restructuring of the study.    I am waiting for notification of my next treatments hopefully in the very near future.  

Since the weather has been so nice and I know we are on borrowed time, I spent Monday clearing out the rest of the plant material in front of the gazebo and around the garage.  Carl came home and we were happily working together on the project when something went wrong.  

I was trying to yank a moonflower root out of the ground and had turned sideways to talk to Carl when sudden pain shot through my lower back.  I dropped the moonflower stem and went down on my hands and knees, hoping I was experiencing a muscle spasm which might pass if I did some gentle 'cat and dog' stretches.  No such luck.  When I got to my feet I had to walk bent over on my way to the house.  Raising my left foot caused immediate pain and I couldn't straighten up fully.  Doing the dishes later on that night I felt like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. 

My gloves where I left them. 

 I went to bed and hoped to wake up all better on Tuesday, but sadly, that wasn't the case.  I tore the house apart looking for Carl's back brace, but it was nowhere to be found.  

During my quest for the missing back brace, I came across a waist shaper that a lady had sold me when I bought the fancy dress for Joel's wedding.  I never wore the contraption, known as a Squeem (hey, I didn't make that up) until yesterday.  It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out which end was up and another five minutes to figure out how to hook all the hooks without unhooking the hooks that were already hooked.  Did you get that?  The secret is to start at the bottom, in case you're having trouble with your Squeem.  Hey, I'm here to help.  The sucker is really like a long-line corset-y girdle and is just as fun to wear as it is to squeem yourself into.   Truth be told, I did feel a little relief with the extra support, though.

With my loins suitably girded, I decided to take it easy and spent the afternoon putting greenery in the driveway pots and urns.  As long as I stayed upright I didn't feel too bad, and walking (slowly) was actually pain-relieving.  Getting in and out of a car was not, however.  I sorta shuffle-walked up to Mom's for her medication dosing. 

More spray-painted hydrangeas and greenery

I went to bed on Tuesday night thinking surely I'd feel better on Wednesday, but once again, there wasn't much of a change.  Being down on the ground didn't seem to aggravate my back too much, so I spent most of Wednesday clearing out the hosta borders along the road and by the Tardig.

After four hours on my knees I'd had enough.  Getting up and down was starting to take a toll, too.  I was starting to limp quite badly on my way to the house at sunset.

In a shocking turn of events, Carl made supper and did the dishes for me while I took an Epsom salt bath.  I felt a little better after the good hot soak, but was glad to end the day.  Surely Thursday I'd wake up and feel better.  

When I woke up on Thursday morning, the left side of my neck was horribly stiff.   I couldn't turn my head at all and my back was even worse.  Since the weather was going to be nice, Carl had taken vacation and kindly went to Mom's with her medication for me.  We decided to go shopping for a new back brace since I couldn't face another day of Squeeming, so off to Green bay we went.  I limped to the pharmacy aisles and selected ibuprofen, Aspercreme, Icy Hot and a nice back brace with velcro adjustment straps.  

"How are you today?" the cheery checkout clerk inquired.  

"Oh, I'm good," I winced as I helped Carl put the items on the belt.

As she ran each item under the scanner, I think she knew I was a liar.

Carl had me push the cart and I slowly meandered out of the store and into the parking lot.  Each step was a doozy as I carefully plodded along.  As soon as were in the car I whipped open the back brace package and with Carl's help, adjusted the straps.  Phew, much more comfortable than the Squeem.

We took the scenic route home and eventually found ourselves out in the garden after dinner.  I was in no shape to do much; I moseyed around getting shovels for Carl and other assorted go-fering, and finally did some work on my hands and knees.  The weather was a balmy, gorgeous almost 70 degrees, it's heart-breakingly perfect to work in, but guilty me should have gotten far more done than I accomplished today.   

Sometimes I have a tendency to get down in the dumps.  On Tuesday I had a crying jag come out of nowhere, right in the middle of trying to squish myself into my Squeem.  I haven't cried like that in a long, long time and even though it didn't help my looks any, I did feel better afterward.  Chronic pain and worry wear me out; it's a good thing there is a pressure relief valve. After the storm passed, I started to giggle, what a sight I must have been lying on the floor half in and half out of the girdle torture device, if it wasn't so painful, it would be hilarious.  Trying to get up off the floor was a hoot, too. 

Abby sent me a picture of Audrey last night; I cannot tell you how much seeing her beautiful face cheered me up:

 Look at her, all snuggly in her cow pajamas.....awwwww, such a Love!

I was able to make supper tonight and even did the dishes on my own, so maybe now I'm on the mend?  I did call my doctor today and he had some words of wisdom for me, too; I'm hopeful this is just a temporary setback. 

We'll see how tomorrow goes, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  One change is for certain, the forecast is calling for 34 degrees on Friday night.  Winter, here we come.........

 

 

 

Septic Installation

 

Frosty Friday Morning: The End of a Garden

When I woke up on Friday morning, I decided to take one last picture of the old back yard before chaos ensued.  Carl was outside by 6AM, scurrying around with last minute details.  

I crawled out of bed at 7AM and put some finishing touches on the food I'd prepared the night before for the work crew.  For once I'd thought ahead and made lasagna, a salad and peanut butter bars on Thursday night.  I had finished the dishes at 1AM which was a good thing, because I couldn't run any water after the lines from the house plumbing were disconnected.  The old 'you never miss the water until the well runs dry' adage is very true, you forget how many times you need to wash your hands or rinse something or use the bathroom until you can't.  We are very spoiled with our modern conveniences. 

By 7:15AM, Fred and Glen, the excavator, were getting started digging. 

 Here we go!

    I had put a call into the septic pumper who was to arrive by 8AM to pump out the old tank so it could be removed.  By 7:30 Carl and I went up to get two of our tractors home from Mom's house. The 184 wouldn't start again, so we had to pull it.  Once it was running, we both headed home to hook up the smaller tractor to the dump trailer.  The topsoil could be hauled away to a pile as the excavator removed it, freeing up some space in the cramped area.

Sadly, just as the trailer was loaded, the 184 stalled again and wouldn't start, this time because it was out of gas.  Carl hollered to me to get the 574 and the chains to pull him and the trailer out of the way.  (How embarrassing we are with our old machinery, sigh.)

After I had towed Carl and the 184 back out to the windmill, Fred asked Carl if he wanted to use his skidsteer to haul the soil away instead.  Carl declined.  He said if he used the nice skidsteer, he'd get spoiled and want to buy one, "I'll go to town to get gas for the tractors and I'll be right back." 

 Carl told me to do what I could while he was gone and keep an eye out for the septic pumper so I could pay him right away.  I was at loose ends after he left and decided the only thing that needed doing was the topsoil removal.  Fred and Glen were busy digging and the pile was getting taller.....well, I knew Carl didn't want to use the skidsteer, but maybe I could?

Old tank in the foreground, looks like a black wall

 I asked Fred if he thought I was capable and off we went for a quick tutorial.  The first thing I did was snub the engine out; when I turned around to sit down in the cab I bumped the steering controls with my ample derrierre and the safety switch killed the motor.  (Ha, I'm sure Fred was thinking maybe this wasn't such a great idea.)  Ok, I got myself situated, applied the seatbelt, pressed the restart button until the red light went out and restarted the engine.  

The next few minutes were spent in general confusion; the machine's bucket is raised, lowered, and tipped using left and right foot pedals.  Ok, think, Karen!  You can do this...Fred kindly left to go back to work on the trench while I clumsily tried out my coordination skills.  If I push down with my left toe, that will lower the bucket and raise the machine, if I push down with my right heel that will tilt the bucket for dumping, or wait.... does the right foot pedal operate the tilt or the lift?  See? I already forgot!

Anyway, after fiddling around with the foot pedals in private, I finally felt confident enough to use the levers (one on each side just like my zero-turning-radius lawn mower) and proceeded to move forward across the lawn at a crawl.  Thank goodness steering wasn't a problem at all, years of the ZTR mower have paid off.  As I approached the pile, I tilted when I should have lowered and had to stop and get my bearings again.  But eventually, I figured it out, scooped up my first load, backed around the gazebo and headed for the lane to dump the soil in a pile.  After the second load I was a tad more confident and managed to up my speed to a brisk walking pace.   We're rollin' now.  

Then I remembered I was supposed to be waiting for the septic pumper guy, darn!  What time is it?  Joel was going to come from work to lend us a hand and as I was hauling the next loads I called him from the cab of the skidsteer. 

"How do you feel about driving the skidsteer?" I yelled over the noise of the diesel.

"That would be alright," he said.  (Or possibly yelled, because I could barely hear him.) 

"Ok, come find me when you get here," I yelled again.  

Joel arrived about twenty minutes later and we switched jobs.  I gave him a quick tutorial on the skidsteer and in a fraction of the time it took me to figure out the nuances of the machine, he was off and hauling.

Joel hauling sand

After I made my way back up to the construction site, I realized I must have missed the septic tank guy; Joel said the bill was hanging on the refrigerator.  In the short time I'd been hauling sand and Carl had been off getting gasoline in town, the first tank was ready to be put in the new hole.

It turns out our old concrete septic tank was in really bad shape, the cover and the north wall were rotted through.  The side facing the house was surprisingly stout yet, though.  Instead of digging the concrete out, they decided to collapse the walls and bury the old one and put the new tanks to the west.

Once the first tank was in, Joel brought up some of the fresh sand we'd had delivered to put in the hole and Carl and Fred shoveled it in place.

Then digging started on the hole for the second tank.

Taking pictures of the installation may seem rather silly, but to have them to refer to in the future for just where something is buried is invaluable.  I went in the house to put the lasagna in the oven and when I came out the back door, Carl told me to take the 'classic garden shot' I often take from the porch.  

 

Well, that's not so bad, is it?  Except for the piles of dirt, things look pretty normal. 

That is, until you turn the corner:

Whoa!  What happened to the backyard?  Ha.  It's a good thing we're used to construction, it's always a chance to make sweeping changes; but I will say, it's still startling.   Joel and I had gone to get plumbing parts for Fred in Green Bay and when we came back home I was amazed at how everything had changed yet again.

 
 Just a few short weeks ago, Bubblegum petunias scrambled across the ground and the grass was green.................

And now, um.....well...........never mind.  Remember how nice it is to have a potty in the house and carry on, Wayward Gardener.   To quote Monty Python and the 'Search for the Holy Grail', 'Tis merely a flesh (er.....sod?)  wound.'

Once the second tank was in place, it was time to start digging the trench to connect the septic tanks to the mound system, over two hundred feet away.  

Here's where I confess I was surprised again, I knew they had to dig a trench from the tanks to the mound to put the pipes in, but I didn't account for the size of the excavation. So what I'd envisioned as a 'small trench' wasn't accurate.

The trench starts behind the last septic tank, past the Gazebo.....

Past the barn and chicken coop..............

 Past the hosta bed...........

 The campfire ring.................

 In front of Castle Aaargh..............(there's Ann!  She came on her day off to help us, what a friend!)

 and then we took a break for lunch.

After we'd had our fill, it was back to work.

There's Ann, climbing into the trenches and shoveling, laying the insulation over the pipes and helping wherever she was needed.  She is amazing, isn't she?

 Here the trench is going around the corner past the Quarry and out to the mound.  Carl bought insulation to hopefully prevent the pipes from freezing. 

 When Joel wasn't driving skidsteer or tractor, he was also in the trenches.

Look how much dirt Ann shovelled!

 After all the pipe was installed in the trench, the area could be backfilled.

 Just like that, all the piles disappeared and the area is flat again. 

The next step was finishing up some of the work on the tanks themselves, but in less than eight hours, we have indoor plumbing again! 

We still have a lot of work to do.  The entire area will settle for probably a few years, but I would think the most settling will occur over winter into next spring.  Since it's mid-November there's really no point in planting grass seed either.  We're just going to rake the lawn as flat as possible and try to uncover any sod that is covered up.  

On Saturday Carl and I walked around in circles in the back yard, trying to figure out how to proceed.  The new septic tanks are offset from the old one and the three covers are in a rather awkward position which won't line up if we put the River Bed back in.  

We discussed all sorts of options; I propped myself up on my shovel and kicked the clods of dirt around.  Should we forget about reconstructing the River Bed and just plant grass?  Or should we move some dwarf conifers into the area?  But then we'd have more weeding to do, which doesn't fit in with Carl's mission of 'Cutting Back by 50%'. 

Since the River Bed won't work in the space any more, then we had a really controversial thought---what if the Gazebo was moved?  Should we try to move it, or just tear it down?  What would it look like if it were gone?  That would be a huge change; would it be for the better?

I texted Joel about it and his conclusion was much the same as ours; it could stay or it could go.  Hornets have taken up residence in the rafters every season, pesky things.   And we all remember a few years back when an entire wedding party climbed up there for photography which made us all uneasy, we don't need anyone getting hurt.  We  don't sit in it all that much because there's too much work around here.  So maybe demolition would be the better option; then we could put the big circus tent up for shade in the space when we have booyah parties. 

But......this isn't an easy decision for either of us, we built the gazebo in 1982 when we were 24 years old and as Carl says, we didn't know what we were doing at the time.  It should have been constructed at ground height instead of raised and it's always been rather awkward-looking.  The posts are pressure treated lumber buried in the ground, we have no idea how long the structure will stand anyway.  So do we waste precious time (and money) trying to move it?  Carl's take on it is we'd need to pour a concrete floor/foundation and then hire a crane to come in and lift the roof off.  The roof is still in good shape and is very heavy, but even if we do move it, where do we put it?  My thoughts are to cut the posts off slowly, a little at a time and lower the roof to the ground.  Then we could remove the railings, buy new posts and reassemble the gazebo elsewhere.  

Or we could always just tear it down.  Or leave it stand.  Decisions, decisions.

This morning (Sunday) we are working on covering the mound with hay to guard against the system freezing over the winter.

All the while we've been working on covering the mound today, we've been discussing the fate of the River Bed and Gazebo area.  With any luck, we'll come to a meeting of the minds soon.

The old backyard.......she ain't what she used to be.

But change can be good, too.

Our thanks to Fred, Glen, Ann and Joel for their hard work, it's amazing what can be accomplished in such a short time!