Five, Six, Pick Up Sticks...

Okay - let me start with this disclaimer: It is not, on ANY level, my intention to impugn Ron's efforts with our yard. He works hard. Very hard. He spends a lot of time on his days off trying to work on our yard. So please, no one get the idea that I blame any of this in any way on him.

That said... I hate yard-work. If you read my 25 Things on FaceBook you know how I feel about gardening. This is similar. I grew up in an apartment building with a doorman so the idea of running around on a mower and pulling weeds and, heaven help us all, picking up sticks is completely foreign to me. Sure, we could cut down these beautiful centuries old trees and maintain a beautiful, golf-course lawn - but then we would displace all those indigenous species and I just don't think that is a fair trade-off. Unlike work inside the house, yard-work in a "natural" yard in the Pinelands of New Jersey merits precious little results.

For example - when I clean the bathroom, I am left with sparkling white surfaces, smudge-free mirrors, fluffy towels and a lovely smell. When I spend two hours wandering around our back yard picking up assorted styles and sizes of sticks, I am left with two monstrous piles of sticks which never.go.away! This past Monday Ron spent a fair amount of time our there with a chipper working on these piles. He swears he made a significant dent in them - but seriously, there are still two very large pile of sticks in our yard. And it makes me crazy.

Our original plan was that we would burn these sticks when we go camping. Well, we have a diabetic dog who won't poop or eat when not at home so we no longer GO camping. So much for that plan. I just wheeled two large garbage cans full of sticks out front for the township folk to take away... and the piles do not look any smaller. It is Grape Nuts Syndrome at its best. No matter what you do, there are still more in the bowl.