Man, let me tell you, I just got done wrestling with a patch of ground out back, and this rocky soil we’ve got here? It’s a whole other beast. You see those folks on TV, sinking their shiny shovels into dark, fluffy earth like it’s a piece of cake? Yeah, that ain’t happening in my yard. Not by a long shot.
So, what’s the actual deal when you’re faced with this kind of terrain?
Well, first, you grab your standard shovel, the one you use for everything. You’re feeling optimistic. This time will be different, you tell yourself. Then, CLANG. That familiar, soul-destroying sound. Your shovel hits something solid, and it ain’t budging. That’s usually about five minutes into the job for me.
So, you let out a sigh, maybe say a word or two your mom wouldn’t like, and head back to the shed. Time to bring out the heavy hitters. For me, that list usually includes:
- My trusty old pickaxe. It’s seen a few battles, chipped and worn, but it gets the job done, most of the time.
- That big, heavy iron bar. I think they call it a digging bar? Or maybe a pry bar? Whatever its name, it’s good for getting leverage on the stubborn ones.
- A solid pair of gloves. Seriously, don’t even think about skipping these unless you enjoy blisters the size of small coins. Learned that lesson the hard way, of course.
Then comes the real grind.
You’re not so much digging as you are performing a slow, painful excavation. It’s more like a fight, really. You jab with the pickaxe, trying to find an edge, some weakness. Then you jam the bar underneath, put your whole body into it, trying to pry the blasted thing loose. You wiggle it, you curse at it. Sometimes you just stop, lean on your tool, and stare at a half-buried rock, wondering how deep it goes and if it’s got friends.
I remember this one time, I was trying to plant a small lilac bush by the fence. Just a little thing. I swear, I ended up pulling out a rock that felt like it was the tip of an iceberg. Must have been the size of a microwave by the time I wrestled it out of the ground. Took me the better part of a morning, and my back was letting me know about it for days. My neighbor, Dave, he just leaned over the fence, watched me struggle for a bit, and said, “Found another one, eh?” Real helpful, Dave.
Why even go through all that hassle, you might wonder?
It’s a fair question. I ask myself that plenty of times when I’m out there, sweating buckets, covered head to toe in dirt and grime. But you know how it is. You get an idea in your head – a new flower bed, maybe you need to set a post for a new gate, or the wife decides that this is the perfect spot for that new bird bath. Life just doesn’t always hand you the easy option, does it?
This whole property, truth be told, feels like it was a rock farm in a previous life, with just enough topsoil thrown over it to fool you at first glance. My last place, the soil was sandy. You had to water constantly, and stuff didn’t always grow great, but digging a hole? That was a walk in the park compared to this. Each place has its quirks, I guess.
It kind of reminds me of this job I had years ago. Looked straightforward on the application, you know? Then you actually start, and it’s one hidden problem after another. Nothing like what they described. But what are you gonna do? You just gotta roll up your sleeves and get on with it. No magic fix, just hard work.
So, yeah, that’s my two cents on digging in rocky soil. It’s tough, it’s frustrating, and it’ll make you question your life choices. But when you finally get that hole dug, or that patch cleared for planting, there’s a certain… well, maybe not joy, but a definite grim satisfaction. Then you stare at the mountain of rocks you’ve unearthed and start wondering what on earth you’re going to do with them. It’s always something, isn’t it?
