This afternoon I will head north for a gig in Greenville. Thus, today will also be the first since becoming a homeowner that won't involve any visits to the new house. I feel a bit anxious about getting behind on my work there, but in truth I've accomplished a lot since last Friday. My primary focus has been an existing bed in the front yard. Some previous owner created it, even going so far as to construct a terrace with a retaining wall. I suppose that person also planted perennials in it, but there are no signs of them now. The bed's been ignored for half a decade, and whatever was originally imagined has vanished into a mess of weeds and saplings.

During this week's hot afternoons, I have been upside-down in that bed, ruthlessly ripping and pruning in order to reach some semblance of soil level. There's no way to completely dig out the roots, so my next step will be to create a weed barrier. For that I'm going to use layers of plain newsprint, purchased by the roll at the art-supply store down the street. (Earthworms love paper, so the newsprint will do double-duty as weed blocker and soil amender.) Then I'll water it well, and then I'll cover it with a load of fresh compost. And then it will be ready for a new life.

But I'll also need to work around the fact that one of these mornings an excavator will be showing up to cut a trench through the front yard and replace our sewer pipe. That's holding my enthusiasm in check. Also, this weekend I'll probably have to start painting rooms. I'm sure I'll be excited about fresh paint too, yet I feel kind of mournful about putting the garden on hiatus.

So now you have the bulletin from Transcendentalist House . . . a name that does not roll off the tongue, so perhaps I should call it Alcott House or maybe Emerson House. Thoreau House would surely be inappropriate: isn't that the one I left behind?