. . . how much I hate, loathe, despise, abhor, can’t stand, dislike, and detest yard work. (Although Roget’s helps. I’m particularly fond of the word “loathe.”)
Now, I know some people love their gardens and yards. These are probably the people who would rather have teeth pulled than knit a sweater or research genealogy. This is a good thing; if we all were the same, the world would be really boring. There is a lady down the street that seems to be working in her garden every time I drive by and it’s not raining. And sometimes when it is. Her garden is gorgeous and she obviously enjoys it tremendously. On the other hand, when I try to deal with my yard weed whackers break, I get blisters from the garden shears, sweat pours down my face and body, mud and bugs cover me, and I have a decidedly unpleasant time.
I have no green thumb. Everything I try to grow dies, with two exceptions: weeds and ivy. Generally, I love the ivy.
But, weeds and ivy had pretty much taken over my driveway. Even my dad, from whom I get my dislike of yard work quite honestly, had started to say things like “You really need to take care of your driveway.” So yesterday it was do or die time. Despite the 72% humidity, a forecast of 84 degrees, and the fact that it has been storming once or twice a day for about the last two weeks. For at least an hour and a half I trimmed, chopped, pulled, hauled, and otherwise fought the elements.
Piles of ivy and weeds had to be hauled away. Sweat, mud, and bugs were present. I got it done in the few hours between storms.
Then I came in, took a much-needed shower, and knit. Photos of finished objects next time.
Today I tackle the inside of the house.