I'm convinced my yard is out to get me.
I'm pretty sure that if you dropped me in the middle of the Amazon rainforest with a paper clip and a half bottle of warm Diet Coke, I would come out better than I have the past couple of years simply trying to keep the grass cut.
Readers have been kind enough to mention how much they enjoyed my missives over the years about my yard misadventures, which have ranged from mowing to dealing with vindictive insects. It's either out of empathy or sympathy, I don't know which. Seems like there's a fine line between the two.
Years and years ago, one of the columns I wrote on a regular basis for our former Garland County west weekly publication dealt with the trials of mowing in the 70 West area, which to me, at least, equates more to moving dirt and rocks from one part of the yard to the other. People still bring up that one, I think because it struck a chord of shared experience. Bless your hearts.
Anyway, back to my latest herbivorous homicidal adventure. As most of you know, it rained an inordinate amount in the first part of the year. According to the National Weather Service, the long-term conditions were "wet to very wet" in Arkansas. I'm not a meteorologist, but it sounds like it was wet in the early part of the year.
In the last 30 days, downpours have slowed down and become more spotty, the Weather Service says. Short-term conditions are "dry to very dry." OK, again, not an expert, but I think I get the point.
So, to recap, wet then dry plus surface of the sun hot equals grass in Arkansas.
Not just grass; I should point out we're talking about varieties of green things seldom seen in the yard, coming up from just about everywhere, like in the "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," the creepy awful Donald Sutherland version. But I digress.
Two points of attack here, folks; it's that simple. Mow or weed whack. Since Noah was already on the mower, weed devastation fell to me.
We had been using a fancy new EV weed trimmer the first part of the season, but since I had yet to start the old standby gas trimmer, I felt like a blazing hot June day was as good as time as any to try. Now, if you've ever tried to start a gas weed trimmer the first part of the season, the next part will come as no surprise whatsoever. It didn't start on the first try. Or the next. But it did on the third. I'm sure it was the encouraging language I used. Which I will not be repeating here.
From there, it was weed-ageddon. Around the house, the deck, along the driveway, and out to the mailbox. That last part was a mistake. You know how you look at a plant and think, "I'll bet that's poison something?" Well, so did I. And yes, it was.
About a day later I was working on the laptop and my shoulder started feeling itchy, like a bug bite. I went to a mirror and pulled my collar back and, sure enough, there was a welt rising. Thinking we must have let a mosquito into the house, I put on some bug bite cream and went back to work. By bedtime, the welt had brought friends.
By the next morning, I could barely stand to button my shirt. Did I mention that the spots were right where the seat belt crosses? Yeah, that was a fun drive to work.
We've been exploring all sorts of nuclear deterrent options for the area around the mailbox. Apparently, flame throwers are frowned upon in Arkansas. I hope the FBI isn't trolling my search history. "Killing weeds with a flame thrower or nuclear waste" has probably got me on a watch list somewhere.
In the meantime, calamine lotion is my best friend, and I'm hoping for a record-dry summer. There's always fall ...