There was a stage, with the downstairs part of our project, when we just knew that it would get a whole lot worse before it could get better. We’re there again. And this time it’s the garden.

It feels like this is probably a metaphor for life in some way.  I’m betting somewhere there is a curve or equation that describes the situation. Well, we are definitely in that place with our garden. I’m not even sure if we can call it a garden at the moment. Sure, it has its constituent parts; weeds, trees, insects and birds, broken plastic flower pots, a weather bitten piece of plastic cord, acting as a washing line. Oh, and a shed. So yes, technically it is still a garden.

But really, right now, it’s a series of trenches. We buried the soakaway, an exercise in gift-wrapping crates and lowering them into a tight hole (that was fun). Then dug out this complex series of rat runs in the ground. The ground bees were very interested. As was a newt and a frog. Nature is abundant, and nosy. Chris sweated, swore, dug, and worked in harmony with the bees as he lowered great lengths of brown plastic pipe into the ground.

Shingle was poured in. Pipes that were “temporarily” (for about a year) diverting our rainwater away from the extension roof were freed from the trees and foliage that have grown around them and redirected down, clipped to the extension walls and into neat little plastic troughs into the ground, and our new underground networks of plastic pipery.





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