by Victoria Taylor

Created on: February 23, 2009   Last Updated: March 01, 2009

Married for almost a year, we had been searching for our first home for months. With all the innoncence of youth we knew we would find it: a charming and affordable dollhouse with great potential. There, we would sow the seeds of love from which wWrite to: My great, true, personal garden story: My personal account - Helium hoped to harvest a bountiful life together.

As a young couple just starting out, money was tight and most of the homes in our town were far beyond our meager means. But after months of house hunting, we finally found it: a lovely cottage sheltered under the boughs of mature evergreen trees. We took up residency in March and couldn't wait to get started: time to create our private Shangri-la.

The existing landscaping was the traditional "lawn, shrubs, house" that had been all the rage in the 1950s when our home was built. In contrast, we envisioned a water-conserving garden that layered California natives, food and shelter for birds and pollinators, and perhaps even a few edibles for us. It was an innovative idea at the time, but we were passionate to teach others the importance of small-scale land management.

It was March, and I was itching to get started. I approached my blank canvas, rested the shovel's blade at the edge of the lawn and jumped onto it with all the force my 120 pounds could muster. Bones jarred and I bit my tongue: the soil was like cement! Oh Lordy me! This was going to take a little more thought (and a lot more muscle), so I decided to postpone my project for a week. Mother Nature was scheduled to deliver some rain, which I knew would go a long way toward making the soil more malleable.

True to her word, the Earth Mother delivered a Noah-sized storm, and in short order turned our "cement" lawn into a quagmire. The compacted soil could only absorb so much water, and sheets of runoff joined rivers from neighboring parcels to flood gutters and storm drains. "Well, the soil should be soft now," I thought, so I coaxed my hubbie out of his nice, warm recliner and into rain gear. Fueled by enthusiasm for a new adventure, we grabbed picks and shovels and headed into the fray.

Cars slowed to a crawl and neighbors peeked from front windows as we slipped, slid and laughed our way through the transformation. My design called for digging out a sunken patio and piling the excavated soil into privacy-enhancing berms between the patio and the sidewalk, but in the pouring rain the "patio" had become a mini swimming pool. Was this going to work?

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