Day 126:Day 8

The thing about writing late at night is that, by the time I get here, I'm so freakin tired that all I can think about writing is how tired I am.

We had a good day. I know that. I remember that.

I remember thinking at one point in the parking lot of the rec centre that all was good. That we were happy and having fun and laughing at silly stuff. We had just finished swimming, we had gone to the library and picked out our respective free movies. She had had a good morning, I had bought 3 trees. (Surprise Honey!!) The sun was up and all was fine.

Then, this afternoon as I dug my holes I realized how incredibly rocky my soil is here.

Damn them! Damn them all!!

I smashed my finger trying to reposition an enormous boulder on a wall, I dug and dug. I found sand, thick relentless sand that dug down 3 feet to pipe...So, now I know where the septic field is. Plan B: Plant berries if the fruit trees I cannot. Man! My vision out the window. But berries are good, right?

I suppose every great pioneer dealt with obstacle. Rocks and sand can be overcome. When I read about an amazing garden in one of my library borrowed gardening mags, I cling to the part where the land started as nothing but gravel and whatever. Miserably bare plots of land just waiting for a me to come along to give it glory. Stars in eyes, layers and layers, years go by and it's me that some young somebody is reading about and calculating years ahead and possibility. Dreaming and dreaming.

My vision shall not be blurred!

And now, I sleep.