Champion of the Yard

I am the champion, my friends.
'Though the yews kept on fighting, 'til the end.

I have conquered the yews. I began removing yew #3 on Monday, and finished the job early yesterday evening. I then took a look at the remaining yew (to the right), judged that I still had a few hours of daylight left, and ripped that sucker out of the ground in record time. Although it looks like the smallest of the bushes, it possessed the most heinous roots of the bunch. It had two lateral roots, about 8 inches under the ground, that were as thick as my bulging upper arm. I had to call in the big guns (Mike) for one of them.

As I was snapping the last little root that held the plant in the ground, one of my neighbors walked by with his dog. He saw me grunting and pushing and swearing and, instead of offering to help, commented that I was the neighborhood’s “Martha Stewart.” I don't see the resemblance, but perhaps she’s a bit leaner and meaner now that she’s spent some time in the big house.

After wrestling with the yews, I still had the energy to remove the last of the henbit from the right bed and do some planting in the left bed. I relocated the gladiolas from between yews #3 and #4 to a nice spot underneath a window. I planted my still very small butterfly bush in the center of the right bed. (It is supposed to grow to 5 feet tall and wide.)

My perennial seedlings aren’t quite ready to go in the ground, but I’ve decided that the ground isn’t ready for them either. During the yew removal, I grew to hate the clay, gummy soil. Despite the yews' vigor, the ground is rather inhospitable to plant life. I am going to amend the soil to give my seedlings a better start. I still have to research what exactly I should mix into the clay to get good garden soil.

We’re in for a long bout of rain, until Sunday. I feel like I deserve a break now that I have demonstrated, without a doubt, that I am the champion of the yard.