My crabgrass haiku…ahem

Oh crabgrass, you suck

Taking over the garden

You like bat shit too?

First, sorry for the long lapse between posts, we decided to go away on a quick vacation. We came back to pure jungle. Note to self – what is a little, tiny weed before vacation will, if not pulled promptly, turn into a ginormous crabgrass that completely envelopes the red onion so that when you pull out the weed, you pull out the onion as well. We’ll be eating two immature onions sometime in the near future.

Onto Keith’s mission. We have a chipmunk problem. What we thought was one or two chipmunks have been creating havoc in our yard, like the gopher in Caddy Shack. I swear I could hear them giggle to themselves as they dug up our yard and garden, putting holes everywhere. Bastards. Keith bought a Havahart trap. He’s relocated 18 chipmunks so far and is still trapping at least one per day. I expect to come home and see little pencil drawings of chipmunks on the wall to mark his “kills” (which are just “relocates!”) Maybe it is the same one and he keeps coming back. Perhaps we should spray his tail or something. I doubt it though, Keith is bringing him towns away from here and setting him free to start a new life (or get hit by a truck like the one yesterday. Well, the little idiot just froze in the road! That was just natural selection right there – taking out the dumb ones.) Can you just imagine the scene?

Me: Hold him still

K: What do you mean, hold him still? I’m not touching him

Me: Well, how am I supposed to spray just the tail if he keeps moving around in the cage?

K: Just do it already

Me: I don’t want to get it in his eyes, you know? What if I blind him? Then it would just be torture where we’re trying to be humane here

K: Would you spray him, Jenn?

Me: Well, now he’s tucked his tail under his body and he’s not moving. Shake the cage

K: Oh my God, Jenn. Do you want me to put some gloves on so you can spray his tail while I hold him? (with notes of sarcasm)

Me: (Completely serious) Yeah, yeah. Where are your gloves?

K: I am NOT going to hold him while you spray him with paint. If you don’t spray him right now I’m just going to let him loose back in the yard. We do this any longer and he’s doing to die of a heart attack anyway

Me: Ok ok ok. Don’t move. (sp-sp-spray) Damn it! I had the nozzle pointing in. Crap, does this stuff come off?

K: (laughing)


Now for my story. Yesterday, freshly relaxed from a few days of decompression, I decided to tackle the weeding. Apparently, crabgrass likes guano too because they were the size of small neighborhoods. Sunscreen – check. Crocs – check (with little socks underneath, gotta protect the vacation pedicure!) Weed popper – check. Gallon bucket – check.

Out to the Chef’s Garden where we’d eat like kings if everything out there was edible, but 1/2 the plants didn’t belong there and were starting to take over. Now that I can tell what a carrot and parsnip look like (I think I completely weeded the beets when they first started to emerge. So much for that!) I weeded all the garden beds as storm clouds started to move in. Apparently, it was very hot and dry while we were gone. Thankfully, K had set up sprinklers on timers to water the vegetables while we were gone. The flowers, shrubs and lawn could use a drink, however, so the storm wasn’t bad news.

I, however, wanted to finish at least weeding this one garden before I went inside. Keith came out with his radio headphones on, ready to start up the mower. I pointed to the sky and said, “So much for mowing!” to which he replied, “Well, I’ll get it started, the grass is pretty tall,” and walked down to the back of the house to get the mower.

It was only Noon and the sky got very, very dark. The cool breeze came through and then the thunder hit. It was only a few moments from when he walked away to when I saw him walk back, “So much for that.” I told him I was just going to finish weeding and see him inside. Back in he went to make us some Sangria (love that man!)

As it started to sprinkle, I thought to myself, (always be careful of the inside voice!) “What’s a little rain? I just spent a week floating in either the pool or the ocean, why would I go inside? Real farmers don’t let bad weather stop them. I’m going to keep weeding. I don’t have much further to go. Yup, real farmer. Not letting the weather stop me.  My next blog post will be all about how I’ve graduated to ‘real farmer’ from ‘backyard gardener.’ Real farmers farm in the rain (it is definitely raining by now! I’m drenched). Look at me I’m a REAL SSSSSSSSSCCCRRRRRREEEEEAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!”

As I was bragging to myself in my head, I was yanking weeds and accidentally disturbed a grasshopper – the ones with wings – who flew up and bounced off my face and then flew away. The scream, I am sure, could be heard next door. See that peg? I was just knocked down from it. I picked up my stuff and took my drenched, backyard gardener ass inside.