Eany Meany Mighty Mow!

I need a mighty mow. 

I returned to my house at the end of August after nearly six months in Texas and I immediately realized that the place had gone to seed. 

My house overrun by rambunctious weeds upon my return from Texas

I love living on 50 acres surrounded by towering cedars, firs, alders and cotton wood trees. I hate living on 50 acres overrun by stickery black berry canes and unruly brown grasses and weeds.

Living in the woods along the shore of Pilchuck Creek makes my heart rise with a deep satisfaction when I turn into my driveway and gaze across my field, orchard and conifer-shrouded hillsides. But when the place is weedy and overgrown, I look out my window and my heart feels heavy - I am wallowing in a scruffy weed patch. Woe is me, I sigh.

I may be the exception; the deer, the field mice, and the black bears and all God's creatures seem to enjoy the thick grasses. But I have dominion over the land (I tell myself, quoting God himself in Genesis 1) and I want to see a change to the landscape, more like a garden rather than a cursed ground of thistles and stickers.

Doe and her yearling munch clover under the cover of tall grass in my field

I had a phone number of a man who was said to be available for bushwhacking, brush-cutting and mowing. He had been contacted over the summer to give me an estimate for his services, but he was busy cutting hay for the dairy herds in these parts. Summer was his busy season and my place and its needs didn't make the cut.

I tried again in September. He was available and came by the next morning for a look-see. I was elated. Dave asked me, "Would tomorrow around 9 be OK?" We shook hands, it was a deal. Eany Meany Miney Mow - I choose you!

Nine in the morning: It's mow time!

Dave backs his John Deere off the trailer, lowers the brush hog implement and we're ready to get the place spiffed up. 

Dave the bushwhacker man, makes a clean cut along my drive. It looks fabulous!

The vicious black berry thorns and their encroaching canes are pushed back away from where they've grown over and are beginning to cover my drive. The tall weeds are cut to a civilized appearance and the five-foot high thickets of berry vines choking my orchard are shredded. 

Tractor is swallowed in a sea of black berry stickers in my orchard

Dave brush cutting the berries behind the house

Before he put his machine in gear, we discussed several hazards that he should avoid, including an open perc pit dug to evaluate the location of where to put my septic system. I pointed to an area beneath the thick cover of berries where caution was to be exercised. He managed to find the pit and thought that it was not too deep. It was deeper than he expected. 

Dave planted his Deere in my orchard. Not recommended.

Together, me driving his dually truck chained to his tractor, we managed to extract the machine without much trouble. He mounted his Deere and continued the job.

Dave and his tractor finished cutting about 7 acres of the most troubling vegetation in 5 hours. I cut him a check for $475 - A great value in my opinion. Some of the best money I've spent out here. Especially considering I paid $350 for a Stihl hand-held blade trimmer a few weeks earlier to tackle some of the vegetation just around the house. 

I feel good, real good after all is done.

The sweet smell of fresh cut grass.

The handsome look of a well manicured landscape in the middle of the woods. 

The feel of autumnal sunshine warms my back and the view warms my heart.

Weed Whacking Wonder

 Six months gone.

Fuchsias in their glory, Summer 2023

In mid-March I left Washington. I pulled the two hanging pots of fuchsias that I had been trying to nurse through the Western Washington winter out of the basement refuge. The fuchsias were putting on green growth and throwing hints of flamboyant bloom propagation in the daylight basement, next to the west-facing glass paneled French doors. March is known to be a cruel month, offering some rays of warmth and lengthening light, only to be suckered into a cruel return of freezes and possible late snow. 

Hanging fuchsia in WA warmth

March is no time to throw the tropical fuchsias into the open air. But I had no choice, they'd die for certain without water in my absence. I placed their pots outside and hoped for the best as I locked the gate behind me and headed south for Texas.

Day 2 on the road, I was stymied by a heavy spring snow storm that closed I-80 across my chosen route in Wyoming. I detoured west to Utah, down through Salt Lake City and then back east over I-70 to my reserved room in Colorado Springs. It was beating with 17-and-a-half hours on wet and snowy roads. 

My fuchsias also took a beating. No snow, but nights below freezing back home. Alas, it was their death.

Before and After

Meanwhile, in my six month absence, spring came to The Pilchuck, grasses, black berry canes and tall grasses grew unabated throughout the pleasant summer months. Upon my return at the end of August, I recoiled at the sight of what the place looked like at after I'd left in in God's hands. 

Oh lord. It was a mess.

August 31, 2024 Overgrown front of my house.

August 31, 2024. View from my front porch.

August 31, 2024. Wild weeds greet my return.

One of the first orders of business was a visit to Arlington Hardware. I looked over my options and armaments to battle the wild weeds that were overrunning the place.

I selected a Stihl line trimmer with an optional blade attachment. I marshalled my forces against the green menace, ripped the start cord and waded into battle against stickers and seedy weedies. I cleared the berry canes that were encroaching my 0.15 mile gravel driveway with the tri-blade attachment, rearmed myself with the line trimmer and beat back the massive weeds rushing the walk way ramp of my dwelling.

September 2024. The threat of tall weeds is cleared from front door ramp.

September 2024. It's not immaculate - but it is cut to a manageable manicured size.

It feels good to make a bit of progress with a power tool in one's hands. All of those weeds climbing up every side of my house are now cut back to the ground. I no longer fear green tendrils suffocating me inside my home while I sleep. 

Mischief managed. 

It is not immaculate and pristine horticulture, but it is progress. Plenty more to do. One day, I will get a tractor and a brush hog implement. Then I will be King of the Pilchuck with berry vines and weeds in submission.

The dream is alive and it is sweet.