You know that we live in an old house. The houses surrounding us are also old. The city has hence deemed our neighborhood as ‘historic’.
But, really, some of the houses around here are just plain old. It’s sad.
One set of neighbors live in what is typically described as ‘a dump’. Their property is entirely heaped with trash… even the inside of their home. The odor is especially thick on an August day. Mr. Anonymous has had the misfortune of being inside of the house, and there is so much garbage heaped everywhere that he describes their walking paths as ‘tunnels’.
It makes my OCD blood run cold.
Well, the fence between our lands finally rotted out.
Mr. Anonymous is building a six foot fence with an extra foot of trellis above that (a big thank-you to our fair city and the sympathetic ladies down at the permit office). Our daughter and I have tried to be as supportive as possible, helping pick up dead branches, keeping track of tools, pruning back vegetation, and mixing concrete.
Today, we made a pungent discovery. Mr. Anonymous broke down an old panel and hauled it away. Then, when measuring where to dig for the next post, he paused and pointed to a thick grey “puddle” on the ground that was now exposed to the light. One might easily imagine that it was perhaps what Jabba the Hutt might flush away.
“What,” he asked, “is that?”
Growing up on a farm had few perks, and this was not one of them. I’d seen this sort of thing before.
An animal would meet its end, and if it couldn’t be ravaged by scavengers, after several years of heavy moisture and darkness, the remains would become… well… like a thick grey “puddle”.
I just shook my head at Mr. Anonymous.
“Okay,” he said dryly. “Try and hold that gag reflex.”
The post is in and perfectly plumb.
Some very dear friends gifted us two massive wisteria root balls last fall, and we are planning to train their growth over the trellis at the top of the fence. Our friends have assured us that they are full of fragrance.
For our sakes, I hope their fragrance is more like a force field.
Plan for tomorrow: Miracle-Gro.