I’ve been back on the yard work, starting early while it’s cool. And wet. Yes, it rained last night (first time in weeks), so everything’s sodden, including me. I’m taking a breather break for a slurp of tea and to rest my back and hip (they’re giving me gyp already).
Still, I’m about a third done. I’d have got further if not for the weed in the picture (this weed is #6 in a series of . . . well, a lot; I’m collecting the set, it seems).
Heavy, fleshy green stuff on a fibrous endoskeleton that needs a machete to chop through. It can’t be reasoned with. It can’t be bargained with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or anger. It is the T-101 of weeds.
I’d better get back to it. Phased plasma rifle at the ready. Well, if I had one. Just what you see, pal.
More later, including before-and-after pics.
Pete Ford 