Forget global warming.
Forget world peace.
If you really want to do something to make a difference for future generations,
If you really want to make the world a better place for your children,
Or, at the very least, if you want to avoid the SCORN of your children and keep future generations from CURSING your very name and BURNING an effigy of you in the streets,
Then good people of the Earth, DO NOT, I say DO NOT, use ROCKS as MULCH!!!
Rocks belong along riverbeds and lake shores. How lovely. You can skip them across the peaceful water, feel their cool smoothness in your hand, or accidentally hit your dog right in the noggin when you're aiming for a tree stump. (The fact that the dog is two feet in front of you and the intended tree stump is across the river is of no consequence.)
Rocks do not belong in your yard, and they certainly do not belong in a PLANT BED that was obviously, undeniable constructed for the exact and specific purpose of digging holes in the ground for in which to place plants.
I mean, hello, farmers curse the ground that is full of rocks. It breaks their plowshares and stubs their wittle toesies. Rocks + planting x cultivating = I'm very angry.
As you can see, the previous owners of our new home did not have someone as wise as myself to warn them of the curse they were casting on the innocents to come behind them.
Sunday was supposed to be spent planting my flower bulbs and some dewberries Susannah gave me. The harmless little layer of pebbles on the plant bed ended up being a malicious shield of pebbles at least several layers of the earth deep. I swear I got at least to the outer core.
I spent the better part of Sunday afternoon trying to remove the pebbles. I started out with a hand trowel, a kitchen sieve and a little bucket. Then, I realized that I pretty much wanted to shoot myself in eye. Then, I complained to Tanner, lamenting approximately 23 different ways about how stupid the previous owners were, how helpless I was and how my planter was doomed to a rocky death. Then, I wrote a short, sad ballad and played it for the dogs on the recorder I still have from my kindergarten music class at William B. Travis Elementary. Then I played Hot Cross Buns.
Then, I figured out a better solution. I took two wheelbarrows and set them side by side. Over one, I placed a metal grate that used to be on Tanner's utility vehicle. I took shovels full of dirt and dumped it on the grate, then, once I got a good pile, moved the rocks and dirt around until the dirt was sifted through. Then, I dumped the rocks into the other wheelbarrow and started all over again.
I was also battling a wild, killer onion with roots like spaghetti noodles that had taken over the planter.
Oh yeah, and for some reason, someone had buried plants in terracotta pots. In the ground. They put the plant in the pot, then buried the pot. So far, I've found four.
I spend several hours shoveling and sifting for rocks. It was kind of like sifting for gold, but more like the time when I was a child and swallowed a marble and had to poop in a bucket and someone had to sift through... never mind.
I made about 5 feet of progress that Sunday afternoon sifting for rocks.
The planter, which is along our shop, is 20 feet long.
There is a cumulative 113 feet surrounding the house that is also "mulched" with rocks.
I'd say I have a nice little project on my hands. (The rocks around the house are larger than the rocks around the shop, which are more like pebbles.)
And we have no clue what do with the rocks.
I don't know where the previous owners live, or else... never mind.