The Woes of Too Much Mulch

Last week I ordered mulch from the city. Recollection told me that I'd ordered a "full-load" in 2011. But as the following events unfolded, I believe I must have ordered only half, or quarter, or perhaps a smidge of mulch in the past.

Friday morning, University City arrived at the front of my yard with a heaping dump truck full of mulch. (I feel that it's also important to remind the readers that it rained the previous night) The truck raised its back straight into the air, but the weight of the now-wet mulch kept it from sliding to the street. The driver started and stopped the struck several times until alas, the mulch fell. It fell, kept falling, and in my nightmares continues to fall.

Now I'm faced with a mountainous pile of mulch that rivals the size of my suburban. I am beginning to sweat. My yard is not that big. No one's yard is that big. The White House wouldn't need this much mulch. But it was mine - all mine.

I asked how much mulch that was? 3 tons. Dry. So now I was left with over 6 thousand pounds of mulch. What could I do with it?

For the next several hours I took wheel barrow full after wheel barrow full of mulch to every inch of my yard. Kate had told me that she'd read we should only have our mulch 2 inches deep. Let's just say it's closer to 12. And after my back and aching arms could take no more, I looked out to the road to what looked like a pile that hadn't even been dented. I'd somehow distributed nearly 150 wheel barrows full of mulch throughout the miniscule yard of mine, and the pile stands like a beacon of back-splitting-mockery.

I encouraged ALL of my neighbors to help themselves. Heck, even the neighborhood kids decided it would be fun to climb the mountain and jump into the flower bed. No worries, the flowers beneath have a foot of cushion to pad the impact.

Since then its poured rain every night onto the ominous pile of mulch, and I can only imagine how many more back-breaking hours of work (not to mention creativity as to where I can hide and stash the remaining mulch) lie before me.

Who knew mulch could be so filled with woe?

Now I know.

Peace,
Ross