A couple of weeks, a couple of hernias and a broken back later, the sow's ear of a garden was at least heading in the right direction. Which is to say, towards silk purse territory. Or, to stretch the fabric metaphor just a tad further, which is to say, too far, the garden was now cut from a marginally different cloth.
For one thing, the steps up to the terraces had reappeared:
The terrace on the second level, my planned vegie garden, had also re-emerged:
And the top terrace, while far from pristine, at least revealed the medieval wall that was our back fence:
Pain? Agony? You betcha.
But all in a good cause.