Well, summer seems to have ended abruptly and my landscaping adventure has yet to reach the driveway. But, as a former boss of mine would say, its back is broken.
I usually get about 5-6 feet of the path laid most Saturdays. It starts with a trip to the landscaping place. I go out back, ask for a pallet and start poking around the picking pile with a few other amateurs who also don't really know what they're doing.
I carefully select from the flagstone pile. If it's too thin, it won't settle properly. If it's too thick it'll be a job to make it level with others. I get a few that I can barely lift and the rest are medium to small pieces that I use to build around the big ones. I put as many on the pallet as I think my vehicle will hold and flag someone down to weigh it for me. Usually it's the same person: a gruff lady with little patience for landscaping newbies.
The first time I went through this process, she raised the pallet from the scale and shouted at me over the grumbling forklift, "Where's your truck?"
"Umm, it's the Golf down there," I said pointing towards the lot.
"A Golf!" She laughed out loud. I totally made her day. I laughed too.
Usually she deals with guys with giant pick-ups. She raises the full pallet above the back and wiggles the controls until all the rock clambers into an overflowing pile into the back. Not with me though. She drives to the lot, climbs down from the forklift and passes me pieces which I lay gingerly throughout the back of the car. If it's a big load, I put a few on the front seat.
She knows me now. I show up and she just brings me a pallet. It's like walking into your favourite bar and the bartender places your pint in front of you as you're settling into your seat. She's still a bit gruff but when it comes time to load up the car, I see a smile creep across her face.
