Feast your eyes on the willow tree that I arrived home to on Monday night. The branches swept the grass, making mowing a near-impossible scenario (sorry, Mom!). Kinda reminds you of an overgrown Oscar the Grouch, huh?
We did trim it down, and now it looks like a gangly teenager who got his haircut by his cheapskate of a mother.
Then, we headed to the backyard. Our home's back fence borders open desert. We love it for chucking Christmas trees over, but it does carry a price. Six feet tall prices, actually.
Yes, folks, tumbleweeds in their finest, watered form. They had a splendid summer drinking of our refined sprinkler city water, but the party's over, buster. Move on out.
Except they wouldn't go easily. Some of the roots were as thick as our wrists. Now, I realize Mom and I are kind of petite women, but still! So we resorted to the 2-person tag team weeding patrol. As in, we both pulled at the same time, were grunting like Monica Seles, and were often sent flying as the shoots held and we didn't.
Except they wouldn't go easily. Some of the roots were as thick as our wrists. Now, I realize Mom and I are kind of petite women, but still! So we resorted to the 2-person tag team weeding patrol. As in, we both pulled at the same time, were grunting like Monica Seles, and were often sent flying as the shoots held and we didn't.
But as you can see, we women triumphed o'er the scourges of Adam, er Idaho. My yard is now free of tumbleweeds, and my heart is filled with gratitude for my wonderful mother who did not mind helping me rid my yard of unsavory, never-say-die-without-swallowing-small-creatures, desert plants.
It was Us vs. Them. We are the champions, my friend. And I will only keep on fighting to the summer of 2009 when we move home to tumbleweed-free Oregon. So fight the power, my friends. Fight the power!
It was Us vs. Them. We are the champions, my friend. And I will only keep on fighting to the summer of 2009 when we move home to tumbleweed-free Oregon. So fight the power, my friends. Fight the power!