IF, while strolling through the woods one day, you saw a really pretty rock sitting in the mud, so pretty you wanted it for your garden, and you decided after kicking it with your foot that it was approximately 35 lbs which deemed it “carriable” because you had beer muscles... Would you pick it up out of the mud and balance it on your shoulder even though it was bigger than your whole head, wobble through the woods with buckled knees and sweat pouring off your brow, stopping only to switch shoulders because your left arm had turned to jello, climb over a guard rail and up a slight incline so you could drop it in the trunk of your car that was waiting for you on the road a mere thousand feet from where the rock had originally been?

I did.

Earl said, “You know it took that rock a million years to travel from the river to that particular spot in the woods.”

To which I responded,

“Yeah, and it would have taken it another million to get to my garden, so I was doing it a favor.”

I still don't know the actual weight of the rock but the longer I carried it, the more it weighed. It was about 80 lbs by the time I reached the car and had slipped down from my shoulder to my belly. Earl kept telling me that the rock weighs the same as a kid would, so I better get used to it. I said no way was any kid of mine ever going to be that heavy, and if he was, he could walk.

But may I say, as sore as my shoulders, back, arms, knees, and heals are today, that rock makes a fine addition to my garden. Now all I need are some plants.