Grass has become the bane of my existence.
While the war on the House Front seems to have subsided lately, as the air heats up and the Rain God starts peeing on all of us once again, my yard is slowly but surely springing back to life.
Alas, someone forgot to tell my yard that weeds ain't cool.
I've got so many plant unwantables right now I don't even know where to start. I'm a dozen or so dollar weeds away from saying 'screw it,' letting my weeds grow to thicket proportions, and adopting a few dozen cats. Every neighborhood needs one of those residents, and I'd like to think that - pending my current allergic reactions to the feline race - I could easily become the crazy animal lover with the out of control yard.
A man's gotta dream.
Anyway, the stubbornish side of me hasn't completely bent over for the weeds quite yet. I've drawn a line in the sand (er, dirt patches that splatter my yard), and am launching a drastic, Hail Mary counteroffensive.
Not all looks grim on the front lines, though - fear not, dear readers. Yours truly has hung a few scalps from his belt throughout this campaign, and has claimed victory over the accursed Fire Ants that have until recently held dominion over my yard.
In what could be compared to Sherman's March to the Sea, or Hitler's Final Solution, I systematically executed every, last one of those demons using a combination of fertilizer, insecticide, spray, and Michiganian stick-to-it-iveness.
And so, my campaign shall blaze on - until I have a somewhat respectable trapezoid (or whatever mathematical shape my yard is... it definitely isn't a square or a rectangle, but I didn't do so hot in geometry) of nice-ish looking grass. Stay tuned.
Heroically Yours,
- Col. Brian J. Hough
Amateur Yardsmith/Ant Eradicator
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