Who Needs A Gym When There’s Yardwerk?

I have admittedly for many years and for many reasons not taken the best care of the yard at the house in which I live.

Several reasons avail. First, I am by nature what many would consider “lazy,” though I prefer to think of it as “creative” or “contemplative.” Second, there were past administrations at my house who were previously in charge of the yard, including one close to the owners, who lived here and moved out for nasty reasons but continued to bark at me for things I was doing in the yard after. How do you take ownership of a project in conditions like that? You can’t. Third, was my own ignorance. I didn’t know what to do with the brush! But, as it turns out, I live in a wonderful county that will send a man around every other week at my request with a craned truck and will pick up the brush as it goes! Yay!

So out it goes. Tonight, I cut down a line of weeds that had become trees at our fenceline, and now I can finally SEE the radio towers from the deck again. Nature is so beautiful. I will continue to clean along the fenceline later this weekend, and soon, the entire lawn will belong to the house again. I hope to make some repairs and painting to the shed out back. I thought it would just require paint, but there is a wall board there that’s all rotted out and full of the bugs and will require replacement. Unless my pops wants to tear it down, but it does serve as a good place to keep the lawn mower gasoline if nothing else.

For this season, I am about retaking rentership of this yard. I am cleaning it out thoroughly. I am killing tons and tons of plants and trees. I have amassed the proper tools: an excellent pruning saw that I call “My Machete.” A Lawn Mower. A rake. A kickass long pair of bushcutters. Gloves and a hat. Though I’m about to wear those gloves out.

I can see the radio towers again. That’s something. And the pond looks nice and St. Francis oversees it. And I get outside and I’m moving and my shorts are falling off me.

Gyme? What’s a gyme?

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