I’m not nearly as sore as I should be, but I’ve been front-loading Aleve. And the effort it took to load 2 of the 5 fifty-pound bags of sand straightened out the kink between my shoulders that’s been there for, oh, six months, so not all ill winds blow no good—and I quit before I had a heart attack, eh?

Today we thought we had a line on some good basalt, but alas, we drove out 18 miles, past Long Lake and up above Nine Mile Falls…and it turned out to be a gravel pit. Wah! However—we have 5 tons of rock arriving on Thursday, white river rock, which will do the dry stream bed, and will require a lot of wheelbarrow action. Most of them will be big rocks, too, head-sized to potato-sized, which you cannot shovel, so we will have to glove-up and pitch those up onto the lawn and hope to make a sort of a long-distance pile.

We were disappointed about the rock, and are about to conclude we will have to get that last bit of basalt we want the old-fashioned way: steal it. Once again the masked marauders in the silver Forester will try not to get chidden by the highway patrol for stopping on the highway and taking rock.

We maintain we are saving people who need to pull off from hitting a nasty fallen rock. It’s odd—you have to get along the roadsides early in the spring, because the stuff has a way of starting to disappear about that time of year.