Dig it

I grew up in Nebraska, the land of dirt, and consider myself a skilled digger. We spent childhood summers digging cavernous underground forts and tunnels and helping Mom till the garden.

Digging in New England is a whole new experience. Rocks are everywhere. It's less like digging and more like removing the dirt that happens to be wedged between rocks.

I'm exaggerating.

A little.

Most of the books I've read on pond construction suggest laying out a garden hose to define where the pond will be. This is not only a good framework to start digging within (which you can see I've started) but is also good for standing up on the porch and inspecting.

Yes, that looks about right.

My friend had his own busy summer plans and their back-hoe was broken so I decided to start digging by hand. Each night I'd come home from work and dig for a couple of hours and on weekends I'd stretch that out to five or six hours Digging and hauling rocks. Hauling and digging.

We have two brand new rock lined decorative crucibles in the front yard made from hauled dirt and rocks.

And don't forget the hill.

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