Yardwork

Each year it seems that I battle my front lawn to a truce. Last year it gave up the ghost. My neighbor's lawns were coming in fine, mine was a wasteland of weeds and thatch. All I needed was to roll in a tire, a bathtub, and a few broken beer bottles and I could have applied for a federal superfund grant.

I opted for the retry. I got out my trusty leaf rake, and put in several hours of ab-strengthening hand blistering labor, followed by a dusting of seed. The results look favorable, especially after all of that glorious free water we had falling from the sky.

I took about eight trash barrels of weeds down to the compost pile at the end of our street


(Left side: What nature gave me this year. Right side: After the raking. Foreground: Old broken paving slates.)







I've taken a few days off from work this week, and have continued with some more yardwork. I replaced our splintered front walkway with new paving stones, found and repaired the French drain that keeps our back steps dry, and replanted the garden over Jimmy Hoffa. Wrong farm, fellas. (See all of that new grass left of my new walkway? I'll get to mow it soon! Oh, BOY!)

Baseball Season

This year Alex moved up to the Majors, and ended up being the youngest (by a day) and the smallest (by a pound or two) kid on his team. They concluded the regular season with a 1-14 record.






He's been playing second base, and left- and center field. He's pulled off a spectacular catch or two, and has a good long throw. Due to his size he has a small strike zone, and is often walked to first. He only had one actual on-base hit this season. His other hits were fielded, thrown out at first, or inning ended (other runner out) before making it to first. But he was walked there many times, and brought home some runs.


All throughout the season you could hear his little voice piping out that he could pitch, and wondering if coach would try him out on the mound. Baseball politics gives the mound to older, bigger kids. Alex was way down the list for potential pitchers. Our second-to-last game was a forfeit (we didn't have enough players show, but opted to play for practice) so coach let him take the mound in the fifth inning. Alex struck out two. Our last game Alex pitched the last three (out of five) innings. Seven more strike-outs. I think he may have gone up a notch or two in some people's estimations.

During one game Alex, who is small for ten, got to share first base with Brandon, who is big for twelve.

Annie the Snake

The other day (May 26), I was tending to some yardwork and spring cleaning. There was a small plank of wood under our park bench, and when I picked it up was startled by a small Garter Snake. "Whoa!" I exclaim. "Hey Alex, wanna see a snake?"

He comes running. "Can I pick it up?"

I give him the sideways glance of dubiousness, and ask him how he proposes to pick up the snake. He patiently explains exactly how an unknown snake should be apprehended, including the use of a stick to pin it down and the proper grip on its neck so it can't give you a bite.

"Watching much Jeff Corwin?" I ask.

"I pick up snakes at camp ALL the time."

I consider that there are no poisonous snakes native to Rhode Island. I look again, and this one definitely looks like a Garter Snake (like the one Laurie found in the laundry hamper one morning).

"OK, go for it."

Two shakes of a rattler's tail later and he's showing me the bottom side of the snake and pronouncing it a girl and its name will be "Annie the Snake."

I fetch my camera and grab a few pics (most of them auto-focused on everything but the snake) and then we let her go. She glides into the crack between the house and the front steps.

"That was cool," I say.

"Yeah," he concurs.