Scything the Meadows (now with Extra Back Pain)

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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.

Right.

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?

Because I hate myself. Because I think this way is better.

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.

Probably.

*We can't do every meadow at once, obviously. So we sorta pick one and go, 'this is the year.'

PaintingThe Walls

In preparation for moving into the newer mobile home, and in addition to adding the wood stove, I have also been painting the interior. It sort of occurred to me a few days ago that the half ripped up wallpaper that had been left by the previous tenants was not what I wanted to look at for the five or so years until the house is done.

Now, what I did not realize was that the previous owners had done a lot of remodeling, but had not really fixed up the holes in the walls very well, unless you count covering said hole with wallpaper a fix.

Mostly I just painted around the goofs, and when it was dry, hung up some of my dad's crocheted blankets on the wall stepped back and said “perfect!”

Unfortunately I discovered another surprise in the living room, which was that they had removed the original door. They had filled the space with something resembling cheap drywall, but there was still huge gap all around the repair. It took me three days of slapping joint compound on the wall, to even began to hide it. The wall is still kinda hideous, it's definitely not that super smooth look that I'm beginning to suspect has something to do with not having your walls made out of particle board and shattered aspirations.

My plan is to paint vertical stripes the wall. Hopefully that will hide all of the horrible mutant deformities. I'm going to be using an antique white, and a color I call -the-color-my-dad-had-bought-at-Lowes-in-their-oops-paint-section. I am not willing to buy new paint to paint a crappy mobile home so I just have to hope that weird ass colors I'm painting this thing won't drive me insane before we can build that house.

I enjoy painting, I really do, but I have a sinking feeling that none of the colors I have access to are going to work with the preexisting colors that are already in this place. Most of this paint I'm using was stuff that my dad had bought before he died, and from his selection I can tell three things:

1. He never paid full price for paint in his life.

2. If it was an exterior paint he had to buy it because you never know when you will need to paint something outside. (How else do you explain the gallon of dark, dark purple I found?)

3. Blue was the best color in the whole god damned universe. Hell, blue was almost the only color in his universe.

I wish I could say something witty here, but I am really hoping that when I paint the stripes on it makes the room work, instead of looking like a wall sized printer error.

Fuck.