Dirt Man and S-I-L

Our local dirt man was supposed to come by at 8:30a, but was here half an hour early with his dumptruck load.  Dirt is cheap; labor is not.  Cash under the table works.  It’s like the old days of “fix my broken wrist, and I’ll give you two chickens.”

After the dirt delivery, my other half shredded the knees and a pocket of his jeans moving the stuff around with the front end loader.  Good  dirt delivery, but his old jeans are air now conditioned around the knees and left pocket.  Normally, we would repurpose them for dipstick or grease rags, but my sister in law has a thing for patching up old jeans with hippie dippy things.  I can’t  wait to see what those  jeans look like when we get them back.  Psychodelic, man …

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