Out of sheer frustration, I was determined to do something I could be proud of for more than the time it took for someone to mess it up or eat it - I was going to plant my Bay Tree.
As my husband looked on with amusement, I gathered up my gloves, the wheel barrow, my shovel, the fertiliser and my tree and off I went. I was going to do this by myself so I could say - "I did that''.
Well, I put that shovel to the soil and it was like hitting solid rock. Bugger. The big girl in me wanted to yell out for the burly husband and say "you fix". But then what would I have to show for it? So I started digging - well not really, it was more like scrapping and chipping myself a hole. Twenty minutes later, with a bruised thigh, I had made it about six inches down and it was only getting harder. At this point, the burly husband called out the window "Can I help?" Not wanting to accept total defeat, I asked if he would mind just loosening things up just a little with the crow bar. He practically ran out the door with the baby in arms. To his credit, he read the situation well, and did nothing more than I asked (might I say the physical strength of men is to be admired). He let me continue to remove the soil and plant the tree, so I still feel like - I did that.
P.S. I'm really proud of the bruise on my leg!