My green thumb has a blister

For the last two days I have been working on preparing our flowerbeds for planting this fall. Unfortunately, several years of neglect not only show, but make the work pretty difficult.

I have relearned several valuable lessons the last two days. They are as follows:

  • The proper tools make all the difference. I have been working the last two days with only a regular round-point shovel and a cultivator (forked hoe thingy). While they probably weren’t the best tools, for sodbusting they worked fine. However, when I began trying to dig up the godforsaken monkey grass, I realized the limitation of my current arsenal of tools. I lack, what we call around here, a sharpshooter or what I believe would be called anywhere else a trenching spade. The blade of an ordinary shovel is just too shallow and wide in this instance. After about 45 minutes of work all I ended up with was a handful of monkey grass removed and a hole roughly equivalent in size to the portion of skin that was now missing from my hands .
  • Whoever invented St. Augustine grass should be punched in the genitals. I realize this might mean that I just said God should be punched in the genitals, but….seriously, dude, what the fuck? It’s just invasive enough to be a total pain in my ass in trying to keep it out of flowerbeds, but there are still huge holes in the actual lawn…ya know, where grass is not only tolerated but encouraged.
  • I have serious issues with grass. St Augustine, monkey grass, patooey. But I also hate pampas grass, it’s ugly and stupid and is entirely overused here. Grass can go to hell.
  • That 2pm probably isn’t the best time to decide to do manual labor in June in Louisiana. Especially if the last manual labor you did involved building a fort. Someone seriously needs to invent air conditioning for outside. And gardening robots.

To summarize: Use the proper tools, grass can go fuck itself, some planning might beneficial.

All of this equals me having to put off anymore work until I acquire a sharpshooter or at least until my back stops trying to form itself into a single rigid mass in protest.

I leave you with pictures of our sad, pathetic yard in hopes that I can share pictures of our no-longer-sad-and-pathetic-yard soon.

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