For astute observers, or people with calendars, the sixty days I was given to to put more gravel down on the driveway expired last weekend. 

So much like a underachieving student in school, I was working on it the day before it was due.

Mother Nature helped out by only being in the mid-90's with 6000% humidity.  The only consolation was the river-like air prevented the mosquitoes from achieving flight, so that was nice.

On Saturday, the gravel man (I think that was his official title) dumped 8 tons of gravel at the house.  My plan was to spread this, by hand, over a 600 square foot area.  Roll that around your head for awhile...my plan was to move 8 tons...with a shovel.

8 tons of jelly-beans sounds bad, but this is 8 tons of crushed rock.

Unlike most of my plans, which look very good before I start the work, this one looked doomed before I even started.

On Sunday morning, I arrived at the property.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure of working with gravel...let me draw you a picture.  Gravel is grey...now you are up to speed.  A small pile of gray rocks sat squarely in the driveway. 

My mind could not equate 8 tons and small.

My shoulders slumped at the thought that there was no where near enough gravel to get the job done.  But I might as well start...

...two hours later it was done.

Now I know you thought there would be some drama or destruction or personal injury, but sometimes I guess things just work out.