Of twitchy little noses and rocks

Sometimes I'm too ambitious in my house projects for my own good.

Example one:

I ordered two cubic yards of Delaware River stone to create two rock beds in the backyard, upon which I will install planters and grow ... stuff.*

*It should be noted that Rich calls me the Lizzie Borden of botany.

This is just one of two rock beds, which we installed because grass simply doesn't grow very well in the one above, and for the other (example two) ...

... it's on the side of the house that does not get direct sunlight.

On Saturday, I did this one by myself. (Yes, I'm milking that one for all it's worth.) I spent Saturday night in a hot Epsom salt bath with a book and a glass of wine -- it did work, as I was actually in pretty good shape Sunday morning despite hauling more than a yard of rock to this corner of the backyard (ignore the rest of it -- still mulching).

Now, instead of mud, there is rock under the hose-keeper. (Or whatever those things are called.) But as I was pulling out the garden hose to water the backyard -- which I had just seeded -- a flash of fur crossed my vision.



Itteh bitteh bunneh!!

Unfortunately, bunnies are not good for lawns. They destroy gardens. They're basically extraordinarily cute rodents.

Extraordinarily cute rodents I can't bring myself to kill.

Well, where there's one ... so I took a glance to the left.

Brothers and sisters. And later, we found another by the garbage cans, so they're mobile and not that helpless anymore. This morning, they were all gone (hopefully not now under my shed).

At least now I can put down rabbit repellent without feeling guilty.

In any case, today, I hurt. A lot. For multiple reasons. My hands are killing me from all the shoveling, and I'm walking a bit like a 90-year-old woman. But at least they're done. Perhaps when I'm done whining, I'll take better pictures.