The weed-eater

I hate weeds.

I guess I'm part paranoid, part neat-freak...but I want...no, need a perfect lawn. When I see weeds, I don't pull them out...

...I pull my hair out.

I spend good money putting fertilizer on it, reading how-to, and when-to books about it. I even dream about it...yeah, nightmares.

You remember Jack in the Beanstalk right?
Well, in my dreams it's not a bean plant...it's a giant weed. It's not a goose...it's a big can of Round-up.

So it was my lucky day when I took my 5-year old son out to the practice field behind the local High School with his wedge and a couple golf balls in tow.

"Now hit down at the ball." I'd say, as he whacked a few good ones over my head.

The more he hit, the more I saw an explosion of dust from whence the ball did lay.

...The light bulb went off.

"Come on Son, time to go home." ...as I gathered his belongings frantically trying to remember where I had stashed those plastic practice balls at the house.

Now, my backyard is Zoysia...so it is just starting dormancy...except for the violets...the most hearty of weed.

I took my son out to the backyard, laid a plastic golf ball on top of a weed and told him to hit down on the ball.

HA! Dust did not fly...just a big green mass of weed! The violet had met a violent end.

And now, in my Jack-in-the-Beanstalk dream...it's not an axe I'm using...

...it's a wedge.

Thanks for reading. Keep it in the short-grass,

JFB