It's that time of year again, when I've had five dumptruck loads (like big enormous gravel-truck-sized loads) of leaves from our city's leaf pickup program dumped next to our garden plot, and it's my job (with help from the kids) to move them all down the hill, over the garden beds, and into the chicken pen area. When The Pile first arrived, it was about eight feet tall, but I've reduced it to three with my efforts this week. Unfortunately, the three feet that are left are the most densely packed, already-composting part of the pile. Every time I take a layer off, the steam comes pouring out, it's well over a hundred degrees inside the pile already.
Also unfortunately, tomorrow it's supposed to rain and that means heavy wet condensing leaves that I have to use a pickaxe to get apart. So that means today it's a race: me against The Leaf Pile. Is it any wonder that by the time the afternoon rolls around, I barely have the energy for a "workout"?? Yesterday I did an hour on the trainer, but I was really dragging. Today I want to run, but I'll have to see how many hours it takes battling The Pile first.
It sure makes you realize why our ancestors had no need to train for triathlons. Wielding a pickaxe, shovel, and rake are exercise enough for any human.
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