Welcome to a fresh, new Colorado Sunday, friends. Every spring when the impulse strikes to resurrect long-neglected flowerbeds, I think back to a blunder from years ago that remains seared in my memory, along with a musty odor like wet dog. It started with a fateful twist of a faucet handle. As a new homeowner, I was set on pumping life back into a young Japanese plum tree in my front yard that had gone sickly through a dry winter. I was also ignorant of the perils of frozen pipes. So I wrenched open the outside faucet, laid the hose down by the tree and moved on to other yard work — never guessing that water from a burst pipe was filling my basement crawlspace, turning the dirt fl
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