Yesterday we scythed the meadows. At this juncture you might be wondering what a scythe is, because for some reason you don't live in medieval Europe.
|This is a scythe.|
And you scythe with it. Usually to make hay. Except we weren't making hay and now I am confusing you.
Every year around this time, we have to cut sections of the meadows back because canada goldenrod is an invasive bitch. If left unchecked it will eat the meadows, and also I should point out that the meadows are what I want to become hay fields. Now where most people would use a bush hog or something, I don't. I get out their and cut that bitch back by hand. Why?
And also because I refuse to buy a bush hog and a lawn mower is not built for this shit. If a bought a bush hog I would have to buy gas for it, I would have to find a place to store it, I would have to maintenance it every year and it would lack the precision that a scythe has.
When you scythe it's just you and the wind and the neat shing ching sound the blade makes as it cuts through the devil weed. And the dull thump as you hit a stump, or the even more terrible scrap as you hit a rock, or the deeply dreaded twang of half buried fence wire fucking up your shit. Cleaning shit out of the meadows? Year round job.
This whole idea started really, though, because I couldn't start the weed eater. So I said, what else can I use? And this was the answer. We each have one, because each scythe is set to a specific person. So if you ever have to use one adjust the damn handles or your arms will fall off and you will weep bitter tears.
Last year it was a battle of epic proportions. Each meadow was almost nothing but goldenrod, and it's think woody stems were beating my scythe up hardcore. It was hours and hours of doing nothing but cutting this shit back and praying. Then we spent last spring and this spring spreading grass seed. And we were rewarded with a field of lush thick waist high grass in our target area*.
This year was much easier, although nothing quite gets your heart rate up like scything. I should also point out that I was doing this in the heat of the day because I had been at work all night and I had spent the morning sleeping. Because when shit has to get done, shit has to get done regardless of whether or not you feel like doing it. Or whether or not you are injured. Or whether or not you have slept at all the night before.
Look what I'm trying to say is that my style of farming is fucking hard.
But worth it.
*We can't do every meadow at once, obviously. So we sorta pick one and go, 'this is the year.'