Home Improvement Marriage Test: The "Honey Do" List Becomes Reality (And Alien Asparagus Plants)

My dream of having a screened in porch became reality. . . at the cost of several hundred splinters, two dozen blisters plus bruises, aches and pains in places on my body that I previously had no idea existed.

The before photo.

 Beginning the porch--framing it up for enclosing with two-by-fours. Then Mr. Thyme re-fitting with baluster rails--a pretty big, daunting task in and of itself. I can't repeat here what was said during most of this time.

The door frames in! Two--one for access to the back yard, one to the side--where you see my empty squares that will become herb gardens very soon--right outside my kitchen door! They asked if I wanted to stain my doors to match my weathered cedar and I said, No. It's like a badge of honor.

Project complete! See the lovely framing--and the very meticulously attached screening!

A view from the front.

Seriously, this looks like an alien to me. I am having a hard time imagining this becoming a long, slender green vegetable doused in olive oil and eaten with pasta. But okay, if you say so.

This is an eight-by-four square foot bed. I planted twenty five one-year aspargus crowns in here. I followed the Square Foot Garden guidelines as Mel (Square Foot Gardening author) stated, three inches of base, then place the crowns over a "mound", drape the roots around the mound, then fill in around with more of the compost, peat moss and vermiculite mix--or as he calls it: "Mel's mix"--to a total of six inches of soil. You can see half my crowns there--the other half having been planted and covered. (Personally, I am sure someone way before "Mel" used this very same mixutre for planting.)

Where do I begin? This all started about six years ago when we found our soon-to-be new home. It was cute, smaller, sat on a little over an acre of land and was located in a county outside the city which is known for it's hills (Ozark-like) and for it's "slightly" less-than-urban personality. Development during the past five years here has been rampant. I was looking to get a "away" from the hustle and bustle of the city--to the charming life of an area where an unpaved road still exists. But not too far away that relatives married each other--if you know what I mean. 'Kay?

I refused to move into a home in a "development" and am adamantly opposed to and made ill when I see "culdesac" cut-out neighborhoods straight out of the Stepford Wives movie with nary a tree or landscape attempt in sight. "Hey you! Put a potted geranium on the front steps already will ya?" (I have secretly wanted to buy a truck load of potted plants and leave them on people's front steps to "just add a bit of color" for those sort of homes.) What is wrong with those people, I wonder? How can you be happy sitting in a home that is devoid of any personality whatsoever--grass and windows, more grass plus neighbors on top of you. Ick. (If I offend, well, too bad--that is why it's called Vegan Thyme, not Your Thyme). New this, new that. Find a home with some charm and save a few points in your carbon footprint while you're at it. . . and if you find a place with mature trees--even better.

Where was I? Oh. . . So, the garden was brambles and weeds. There were children's toys buried throughout what once was "the garden". I'd find a doll head here, a truck there when I began the arduous task of clearing the weeds trying to determine what in the heck was once a plant from what was now a weed. The front lawn was jagged and overgrown with thatch and crabgrass, the hill behind our home was raped of its trees (which we learned about after we signed the contract--and I so hope there is a tree heaven and "punishment" for this previous owner's greedy negligence). Nevertheless, we have a vista in our back yard that is unmatched by any other in the neighborhood. I am slowly letting parts of the backyard grow back to it's natural state.

Our home has a wrap around cedar railing type of patio. One part of it is completely finished with a vaulted ceiling and outdoor fan. However, it lacked something: privacy. First I hung bamboo curtains around the deck. You see this a lot in the south and on lake front property. I love being outside--love to move my entire life to "outside" as much as possible during spring, summer (except on those days when the "melting" factor sets in) and fall. Then, I began thinking how easy it might be to just convert the patio area to a screened in porch. . . for six years I have thought about it. Until last Friday when the tape measure, a piece of paper and my bull headed determination set in and I was off to the big box home store with drawing and photos in hand.

Mistake number one: Asked about the screening area and was given directions and walked over to said area by a really young, probably out-of-real-work tech person who looked to be all of twenty, if that. I said, "So, you ever build a screened in porch?" "No, but I do know about this product." (Yes, I am sure you do from the "store" tour you were given upon hire. And Lincoln Logs don't count buster.). I immediately turned away mumbling something like idiot. . . I can be a real "B" sometimes and was in no mood to waste time--plus I'm almost fifty, please don't patronize me. So, I went to the "contractor" section. Ladies, have you ever been to the "contractor section" of big box home stores (I'd never--usually I'm in the other far end of the store in "gardening supplies"--this lumber and contractor section is unchartered territory). So here I was on the end of the giant store where all things large and heavy are located. I said, "I want to talk to a contractor--I want someone who knows how to build help me." They were a bit taken aback. . . and I was the only woman in sight.

Mistake number two: Pretending to know what the heck a two-by was and what the heck a baluster was. But I don't intimidate easily and I am no quitter. Two hours and one hundred questions later, my sports car was loaded down with wood and screen and enough material to begin our home improvement project for screening in our porch. The poor guy helping me literally had to excuse himself citing something about "really hungry, need to phone home"--I was like, That's cool, really appreciate your help! And I left.

I'm not going to pretty this up for you. This nearly killed me. It nearly killed both of us. And Mr. Thyme, when he got home Friday and finding our porch surrounded by eight-foot two-by-fours and "baluster" rails, with a chop saw sitting on the ground  and drill and bits scattered about, looked at me and said, You really are going to make me build this aren't you? And like any good wife who knows this "uber" honey-do list might be the deal-breaker, kindly replied: No, I'm happy to do it by myself if you'll just give me a hand with the "heavy" stuff. . . honey! With help from both neighbors (thank god!--one loaning time for the door frame--I paid him for it, and the other loaning the chop saw)--and us logging over thirty hours of "hard a--", back-breaking labor, and a marriage that is still in tact. . . I am sitting here this morning in my new screened-in porch blogging.

Yes, Mr. Thyme and I tested the bounds of marital bliss by dividing up the "tasks". Me in one corner, him in another. Saw screeching. Drill whining. ? *I would highly recommend taking careful inventory of the love-o-meter prior to attempting any such project. While it may improve the home, it could kill a weak marriage.
Ten hours of this on Saturday--with contractor neighbor over to build door frames. Nine more hours of Mr. Thyme and I on Sunday, then another ten hours of me by myself on Monday. (Mr. Thyme is really quite the carpenter--though would never want the rest of the world to know just how good he is at it. His father--a "card carrying" union contractor most of his life, tried to guide Mr. Thyme down a similar path, even had him on a job site or two in his younger years, once with a jack hammer--thus Mr. Thyme became a scientist.)

Mr. Thyme and I lived to tell. Sunday night we sat out on our new screened in porch surrounded by cast-offs of eight foot lumber pieces, piles of saw dust around and enjoyed sloppy joes with lemon aid. He looked at me and said, "This is really nice, I really like it." Hearing this made me want to marry him all over again.

So yesterday, I finally got back to gardening. Enjoying my screened-in porch. And eating. Gosh, nearly forgot about eating. Was having so much fun, I just didn't think to eat. Well, let me be honest, we were dog tired, full of blisters and I began noticing a bi-cep forming on my right arm--which creeped me out--because I don't really want arm biceps. Ever. So eating took a back seat to long soaks in the tub, then grabbing whatever we could from the pantry and eating, then sleeping. Like the dead.

Right before my "project" began, my box of asparagus crowns had arrived in the mail. I just let them wait until yesterday. All day, again, spent outdoors, mowing, mowing and weeding, planting some more seeds and also, finally, putting these crazy looking asparagus crowns into their new home--which will be the same home for the next thirty years. Asparagus crowns: my little aliens.