Friday, March 18, 2011
In fourth grade I was obsessed with the idea of having a pond in my backyard. I would daydream about wading my feet in the water, piece of grass in my mouth, maybe catching a fish or two ( so basically Huck Finn). Anyways my parent's told me something similar to "you dig it, and it's yours." I think that was one of those rhetorical statements... like I wouldn't dig a pond or something. Ha. Come on Mom and Dad don't you remember the time I took my bicycle apart, attached the wheels to the garden box, and attempted to build a small car? Or the time I dyed Sparky purple with manic panic (Sparky was my tiny white poodle, and I don't think she liked the new look)? Anyways the feat of digging a pond seemed plausible. With my dear friend Bonnie by my side, two shovels, and a lot of determination, we began to dig. After about 4 hours we were waist deep in a big hole of mud (it started to rain mid pond). Jeans ruined, shoes ruined, real live hole in the backyard, job well done...thanks Bonnie.