Spring is here, which translates into vegetative growth approaching inordinate proportions. Yesterday, I mowed the lawn and I swear the clover weeds were trying to trip me. It’s like they have a mind of their own. Seriously. I felt like Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors when Audrey II started eating everything in sight.
Just last weekend, armed with a spray bottle of grass & weed killer, I traipsed around the yard saturating the mulchy groundcover surrounding our plants and trees. This was followed by dropping pellet fertilizer weed & feed on the lawn.
I have to chuckle at “dropping pellet fertilizer” since it sounds like something a small, furry woodland creature would do. I am woodchuck, hear me roar…or chuck-chuck, which apparently is the sound they make…and, yes, I researched it online.
Anyways, the spray works pretty quickly. Weeds were yellowing already and no new growth was sprouting up. Absolutely no one is mourning their passing. However, funeral services for the weeds will be held this Sunday at 3pm, immediately followed by burial. They are begrudgingly survived by the trees and shrubbery that dot our landscape.
Conversely, the lawn patiently waits for the slow, painful, choking death of its own noxious intruders. The weed & feed takes a bit more time to get the job done, but the lawn is okay with that. It realizes it has nothing better to do but while away the time pining for a weed-free existence.
In any event, the lawn has heard there’s a soirée worth crashing this Sunday that is being attended by its woody neighbors. ;)
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