The 4x4 Post
5/4/1

I am going to tell the story of the eight-foot tall 4x4 post we have sticking up out of our back yard.

But first some fluff. I spoke with a meter maid yesterday and found out her Interceptor can go 50 mph. It has a limiter there. A little internet searching found www.westwardindustries.com, home of the Go-4 Interceptor. I still like the Cushman White Truck best, but I can�t handle only 22 mph. Oh, as if any of this meant anything.

I got an email from a reader about my little graphics. I tried to figure out a way to have a gallery of them, without me moving files anywhere, of course. But alas, I�d actually have to take an effort, so�uh�maybe later.

I picked up a hitchhiker yesterday on the way home. I didn�t tell Wifey since she�d probably freak. She�ll read this in a few hours and know anyway. I saw a car on the side of 565 and some miscreant walking for gas. The next place I could turn around was Jordan, then turn around again at Memorial Parkway, about a total of 5 miles to get in the same place, and I didn�t see the guy. A mile down, I see a guy and pull over. It�s not the same guy. This guy is a hitchhiker who left Sheffield in the morning and went to Scottsboro (or some places around here, I don�t remember exactly which, but its around a 200 mile round trip) and is on his way home. I went a little out of my way and took him to Wall Triana, about three miles past my exit.

About The Post:

Three years ago, Wifey and I had an idea that we would build a gazebo type lath thing in the back yard. It would be uncovered but we would coax wisteria to grow over it to provide shade.

In year one of the post, we installed it. We used Wifey�s mom�s auger to dig the hole and put a 10 foot long 4x4 post into the ground, surrounded it with dry quickcrete, and hosed the quickcrete down. There is sat, ugly and tall. We had an 8-foot post sticking out of our back yard.

And there are no trees here, at least not tall ones. Five years ago our neighborhood was a pasture. No doubt the farmer gave us because his cows couldn�t stand walking on all the stinkin� rocks that make up what we affectionately like to call soil.

Year two brought the wisteria into the picture. Wifey and me have a disagreement on this and she says that it came in on year one. If she had a webpage, I guess you�d hear it that way. I don�t know who�s right, but I�ve always liked my opinion better than others. I guess that is why it�s mine.

The wisteria didn�t bloom last spring and it didn�t seem to bloom this spring. What it did do last summer was grow. At the end of the season the post was covered with the vine.

During the winter, I installed two wrought iron hooks. And they�re wrought, baby. This isn�t any Wal-Mart thing. This is Jojo the Blacksmith Monkey Boy made these. But we bought them at Lowe�s. (Doh!)

The hooks are to hold the bird feeders. While I�m not a big proponent of the welfare state in politics, I�m all for it when it comes to animals. We don�t even make our cats turn in forms showing they are looking for a job anymore.

Another part of putting up the bird feeders and developing a birdie welfare state is that I�m trying to grow some grass on our rocks�I mean yard. The doves, who are really milking the welfare state for all it�s worth, will eat my Bermuda seed as soon as I put it out. Seed is expensive. Or at least, for me, it�s hard to justify paying $9 for a two-pound bag of little bitty seeds.

But the wisteria is freaking out and growing crazy, so it�s time to put post two of the structure up. There is a volunteer clematis popping out of one of our hostas near the birdbath, and I�d like to move that over.

Oh, and when I say �I�, I mean Wifey. I don�t really dig the whole green thumb thing. She really likes it. To her, gardening centers are like crack (or crank, or cronk, or whatever the trailer druggies are doing in the Midwest as I speak). I will help with the auger and I�ll set the pole. But after the beam that ties the two together is in, I�m done.

Unless Wifey doesn�t do it. Which I can�t imagine. But if she doesn�t, I�d do it.

But I�d do it my way. (This phrase strikes fear into Wifey and keeps me from having to do many things such as cook or organize linen closets or spice storage areas.)