First he watched two yards of dirt wash away. Then he waited and waited and waited for the grass to come. Grass that couldn't come because it was too wet to get grass from the fields to anyone. But, miraculously, somewhere (somewhere grass was growing) there was a break in the rain and Wednesday was delivery day. Two pallets of fresh, wet, HEAVY St. Augustine arrived at my Dad's door. So, with rubber boots, rubber gloves and some bug spray, we set about to spread fresh dirt and lay grass. The dirt was tucked neatly away in the garage - nice and dry in bags -- topsoil and a healthy, albeit smelly, garden mix. We trudged through the mud with a cart and a wheelbarrow until lunch time, enjoying the sunshine. But, after lunch, the clouds returned and opened up on us. Everything is relative, though. The rain cooled things down, and cooled us down, as we set about transforming his yard for another 2-1/2 hours. Sometimes the rain stops us in our tracks. But sometimes, when you're in the dirt and gardening, there is something refreshing and cathartic about working in the rain. It feels good to dig in and do a little manual labor and then step back and look at something of which you can be proud. My daddy taught me that, a long time ago. And it was nice to share it with him again this week. Thanks, Dad.