Taming the Forest Primeval

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Since we went to all the trouble of renting a Hunormous Dropbox ™, we decided to fill it to the very top with anything that wasn’t nailed down on the property.  We began with a pile of weeds and junk that was piled up against one side of the house, behind the shed.  There were a couple of aluminum windows that had been removed and replaced, but I’ll offer these up to a junk-metal dealer via craigslist rather than pay to have them hauled off.  The rest was old wooden trim and hugely overgrown mutant weeds as tall as I am.  Sadly, I have not painstakingly documented every aspect of this project in minute, excruciating detail (you’re welcome) but here is a picture of the absence of said pile.

Absence of junk!

In the background you can see the shed putting up a feeble protest to its own demise.

By this time Kenny was removing the shed rafters, safety-wise a one-man-job, so the rest of us wandered off to tackle the yard.  When we moved in I bought some loppers and made many of the trees and bushes a bit more presentable, but this summer the back yard in particular has exploded with savage growth.  The wisteria and grapevine on the lanai (lanai is fancy for patio, and we are ever striving to be fancy around here) threaten to engulf the house, and we have several wily rhododendri that I’ve seen eyeballing the play structure with a calculating look about them, so we adopted a take-no-prisoners attitude, adjusted our collective pruning implements, and strode into the fray.  Branches to the left of them!  Branches to the right of them!  Into the valley of growth rode the four!   … Er, pardon me.  The heady vapors of success are getting to me.

I think they cut it a little too short around the blowhole!

Visible on the table is one half of the cocktail that keeps us creaky old folks upright, i.e. espresso beverages, while the Costco bottle of ibuprofen lurks off-camera, winking slyly and making suggestive comments: “You know you want me.  Don’t be coy, baby.  I’ll do you right.”

Last night after all this crazy work we showered, threw some food down our necks and collapsed into bed.  Naturally the children couldn’t be bothered to sleep past 6:30… darn kids.  They ruin everything.  Which is why we buy them trampolines, in the hope that the subsequent broken bones and casts will slow them down a little.  Kenny should arrive shortly and our struggle will begin anew.  Viva la suburbia!  Long live the tract home!  Etc. Etc.

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