I stacked the boxes.
The screws we had were too long, so I went out and got some two inch lengths and went outside to try my hand at screwing in the connecting blocks, myself. I could do it. Why couldn't I do it without help? It's a drill and screws; it practically works by itself.
I'm shamefully not as cool as I thought I was.
My Bert and Ernie arms couldn't hold the drill, press down on the drill and then hold the block in place while making sure not to shift the box on top. I got one side of one box done, practically stripping the screw bit to do so, and if you lean your head to the side, or have a stiff drink before viewing the picture, it doesn't look too bad. OK, so it looks bad. EG, I saw you cringe.
I gracefully conceded defeat, however the dog who witnessed my crushing failure wouldn't agree that graceful was the right word, but I packed it up and came to ask for help. The man's right. I'm "not qualified."
We went out to tackle the job together and I don't know if I feel better or worse. He struggled almost as much as I did. It turns out I couldn't have bought worse screws if I had tried. They had no bite whatsoever. So it wasn't all my shortcoming, but I was responsible in the long run. So, does that make me more or less qualified?
Here are the finished raised-raised beds. Next weekend looks cold, but sunny for both days, so I'm likely going to get the compost then to try to start filling these babies and top off my other beds as well.
The morning comes early. Sweet gardening dreams.