An expensive summer

Yeah, this is what it's shaping up to be.

So, I come home from work and find a green tag on my porch. Okay, I think, that means ONG has been in the neighborhood or something and is letting me know the gas was off for a while.

Nope. It's from the city. "Tall weeds or brush." I don't know if someone reported me or if a city guy just saw it. And I admit, it stung my pride: I used to be on the Beautification Committee, before it was subsumed into another committee that meets while I'm in class. But the thing is: when you're allergic to contact with many, many plants, and you're busy, you tend to forget things like clearing out brush in the alley.

Of course, they don't tell you where. (My lawn is mown. Yes, the yaupon hollies in the front haven't been trimmed recently but they're not BAD. Yes, I need to edge but again that's not BAD. There's some stuff in the backyard, but it's all fenced in and I figure most people can't see it).

So I have to call. (I'm sure that's part of the deal: make you supplicate before the City "Authoritehs")

It's the alleyway. Out behind my house where I never look because of the fence and because I mostly worry about the street-view from the street I'm on. Um, okay. I thought the city owned that. But I guess it's my responsibility to de-brush it?

I felt a certain sadness: what do I do now? Do I risk massive hive attack or getting killed by a falling branch or fall off a ladder or give myself a heart attack trying to use my little handsaw to cut things? (Or destroy my hands and elbows for days afterwards and not be able to play piano or knit or write) Or do I call a "guy" and have him do it, and shell out more money?

I decided to call a guy, figuring that the time, frustration, and possible injury probably weren't worth it. I got a recommendation and called him. He called back fairly fast, too, and is doing an estimate for me. He's also going to try to take out the poison ivy infestation in the back end of my back yard, which I'm sure will cost more, but it's not worth it to me to risk hospital time. (For all I know, that could be the source of the complaint; the city is not exactly forthcoming with information).

The first he can get out is a week from Saturday, which tells me he's probably a decent guy (someone who could come out tomorrow, maybe not so much). City tells me that's OK. (I suppose people who fail to comply get a yellow tag, and then a red one, and a fine somewhere in there).

I will just pause to observe: dog that barks all night long, perfectly okay in the eyes of the city. Teenaged kids shooting off fireworks past the supposed noise curfew, perfectly okay. Homeowner gets a little behind the game in shrub maintenance? Oh, we can't have that. (And I will note that there are many yards that are worse than mine. Not in THIS neighborhood, perhaps, but in town)

But whatever.

Then I thought: wait. Could "alley" maybe mean the area to the north of my house, the narrow passage from front yard to back? I had let that get bad, too - the dang grapevines that the birds poop out had taken over. And some kind of Apocynaceae (I looked it up once but don't remember the name, I think it's a Cynanchum): a horrible, climbing, twining vine with nasty milky sap. And it smells. Oh, how it smells. It reminds me of when I had all the teen boys in Youth Group and they'd come to church after sports practice and take their sweat socks off. The smell gets on you and you can't easily get rid of it. And the stupid mulberries and the stupid winged elms. And it had all gotten tall and jungly and I kept looking at it and going, "I need to take care of that" but never got around to it.

And then something snapped. And although I should have been in practicing piano, I just grabbed my clippers and the wheelbarrow and started rage-gardening, ripping EVERYTHING out.

Rage-gardening is like rage-cleaning: you're angry, you're out of darns to give, you just want the project DONE, you don't care if you damage stuff or if it's an imperfect job. I cut and stacked stuff in the wheelbarrow and swatted mosquitoes and mumbled like Yosemite Sam under my breath.

I had a half-hour I could spend and still get the piano practice in. I actually got the area pretty darn well cleared out - or at least, stuff is short enough that I don't think a reasonable person could complain - in that time. Yes, my hands and arms are a little hivey, and my legs got cut up (I didn't bother to change clothes, just barged out there and started working. That's a family trait; my grand-dad changed oil in a white dress shirt, my dad has been known to mow the lawn without changing from his suit pants.) I may have ruined the skirt I had on with sap. (Then again, it's a Deva Lifewear skirt, and they're pretty tough and pretty washable)

But, gah. It's like I get one fire put out and another one crops up.

(I think the nasty plant is Cynanchum laeve, also known as honeyvine. Honeyvine? I don't THINK so. Though it could be C. louisae, they don't mention a horrible smell for the honeyvine, and the smell is the most distinctive thing about this dang plant)

Apparently this is what  my yard is, according to someone somewhere:



(Warning: loud and screechy)