The dude and I spent several hours working on the path today. I can't lift my arms higher than my elbows. I'm like a little penguin. Tonight as we were driving to dinner, Pete opined that we're going to start a trend in the neighborhood. The only houses with paths from front door to sidewalk are the ones that have driveways in the back. (And they are all stick straight and made of cement.) But it's so practical and ours will look so great, soon everyone will be digging garden paths. I responded that it's possible but they won't be called garden paths. He looked at me with mild horror. "They'll call them front walkways." In Britain, your yard is called a garden whether it is planted with flowers or vegetables or not. So the walkway in your yard is the garden path. (Which makes sense of "leading someone down the garden path.") He does call a yard a yard, fwiw.
We've called in the cavalry tomorrow. With any luck this project will be a lot closer to done because I'm pretty sure my arms are going to fall off if I have to lift another shovelful of dirt.