Tipping Pitches: Lawn Love: Battling the Bushes


Saturday, September 26, 2009

Lawn Love: Battling the Bushes

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It's the weekend, which means many things for men.  Football.  Beer.  Relaxation.  Grilling.  Lawn work.

I love my lawn.  Love it.  But before we finally moved into our new house a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't been able to share my lawn love for quite some time.

When we moved into our first real "home" with a yard a few years ago, I babied that thing.  I mowed it.  I sprayed it.  I weeded it.  I manicured it.  I massaged it and whispered sweet nothings.  After all of that love, it returned the favor by looking good and making me proud.

Then we moved to New Jersey and three years of rentals passed before I could again have a lawn of my own (or mortgaged, but you get the picture).

It's a nice lawn.  A pretty big yard, relative to this area.  But "big" also means a lot of maintenance, and this baby hasn't been maintained for some time.  That diaper has not been changed.  Like many homes on the market these days, it was a foreclosure.

Since moving in, I've done everything imaginable in a short period of time.  I pulled every large weed I could see.  I sprayed the hell out of everything that was left.  I patched the bare spots.  I mowed twice, trimmed twice, and edged once.  I applied Revive to bring it back to life like I know it will, and I plan to apply one more time tomorrow.  I am giving this lawn everything I have, and I expect it to return the favor.

Of course, as with any big project, you get the obvious stuff done first and then you start picking out the finer details.  Things that didn't seem so obvious two weeks ago are obvious to me now.  Today, I pulled several look-alike shrubs that were actually overgrown weeds as well as a few ugly shrubs that might as well be weeds.  And then I needed to pull the big, deep-rooted, dead stuff.

It was a battle, but one I enjoyed.  Three of the shrubs came out relatively easily.  But the fourth...  The fourth was my nemesis.

It was a rose bush.  Anyone familiar with rose bushes will realize that removing one is no picnic.  The roots run deep, and are thick and strong.  And even if you get to the roots, the thorns will give you one last jab in hopes of survival.  This particular bush has actually been a week long project.  I started digging it out last week and gave up.  And it's been staring at me ever since. 

So I dug.  And chopped.  And cut.  And pulled.  And dug some more.  At long last, I got that bad boy out, but not without first suffering some battle scars.  It scratched the hell out of me, but it was the scratches that made it such an accomplishment.  You were a worthy opponent, rose bush, but you are mine now.  Into the trash with you.

Wish our first Denver snow teasing us this past week, I realize my time to work this lawn is running short.  But I'll work the hell out of it while I can.  And then next spring, there are no excuses.  It will be green.  It will be lush.  And it will be glorious.

This bush was no worthy opponent.  It was weak.  It shamed all brave shrubs with it's pathetic resistance.

This rose bush, on the other hand, was my nemesis.  It was a warrior and fought a fierce battle.  I have great respect for this bush.  My blood is on its thorns.

My arm after The Battle With the Rose Bush 2009.  My other arm looked just as bad.  Now, I realize that Blackberry cameras don't do such a crime scene justice, so you'll have to trust me on the severity of my wounds.


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