August 29, 2006
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MonsterWeed vs. Sawzall!
Okay, this actually took place mostly in June. Sorry I haven't gotten around to telling this story yet, but better late than never.
So we have this problem with Miss Cynthia's trees growing over the fence and into our yard. I call her to ask if she minds if we trim them back.
"Oh, cut 'em down if you can. Get rid of them. Those are weeds, not trees."
As a matter of fact, her backyard is a tad overgrown (she's been spending a lot of time in Texas and Moreno Valley recently). I thought she misunderstood which ones I meant. I meant the trees that have given shade to Joe and KC's guys as they dug the trench for our water main...
...the ones growing right up against the second-floor windows, blocking our view...
...the ones growing right INTO the second-floor windows...
...the ones that tower high over our two-and-a-half-story tall structures...
"No, those ain't trees. Those are weeds. Tried to kill 'em but I couldn't. They've nearly choked out my sugar cane!"
With her assent, I armed myself with a machete and a borrowed sawzall (thanks, Bob) and sallied forth to take on MonsterWeed.
I fought five separate skirmishes with the beast at various times in June and early August (when in town). Most of the battle took place here, in her back patio.
Here, standing on stacked pallets and scrap lumber (hers), I felled all my biggest trunks and limbs. I lopped them of their smaller branches and cut them into manageable lengths (six to ten feet) right there by the blue bin. Then I had to drag them past the old cars left in Cynthia's driveway and stuff as much of it as I could into a couple of green "City of Los Angeles" Yard Waste bins for free weekly pick-up.
All this I did as quietly and calmly and odorlessly as I could, because I have it on reliable authority that Cynthia's old pit bull bitch Brownie can in fact scramble over that pedestrian gate (see below). She does so when she thinks a trespasser needs to be chewed on.
It is a curious feeling, attempting zen-like control of your sweat glands while doing hard physical labor. Though Brownie came to the gate and sniffed and listened, she never tried to scramble over and chew on me.
I don't think she likes that weed either.
