I feel I must explain the state of our yard. I am well aware that the grass/weeds are a foot tall. I could say that it is because we have been in the middle of a health scare recently and haven't had time. I could also remind you that it has rained four out of the last six days. But we all know that I would be lying if I used those excuses. My yard will look like this all year. So sorry.
1. To explain the fact that only part of the yard gets done at a time, I have two little boys at home with me all day and six acres to mow. I can only mow for a maximum of 45 minutes before boredom, fighting, and general mayhem stops my progress.
2. To explain the patchwork quilt look to the yard, kids move. Mowing near the children is dangerous. (I once almost killed a child with a 100 year old piece of rusty metal that flew out from underneath the mower. The child was IN THE HOUSE! The metal zipped right through a sheet of plexiglass and the glass window and sprayed the glass all over the game room in our house. The same room that Hubby had just left with the baby.) Let's say I start by mowing the orchard while the kids color with chalk on the front porch. When those children move to the field to play baseball, I have to move to a completely new part of the yard immediately so as not to accidentally kill them with shrapnel. The 45 minute rule from above prevents me from getting back to the orchard to finish the area in a timely fashion.
3. To explain the fact that I don't mow every day to get it done, I hate to mow our yard. You would, too, if it was your yard. I like to mow in general. What mother of six wouldn't like a few hours of time to soak up the fresh air in peace and quiet? (The very loud sound of the mower is simply white noise. Anybody with more than one child knows that.) But my yard is booby-trapped. It doesn't want to be mowed. The driveway is lined with both osage-orange and mulberry trees. One looks like she has lost a fight to a vicious cat after mowing around them. The osage-orange trees have inch-long thorns that tear at any exposed skin they can find. If no skin is showing, they go after the clothing or the hair. And they reach down for you. Every year we trim those blasted trees back, and every year they droop down to get us. And that's just the start. In the fall they have their ginormous hedgeapples to drop on you. Bruises on top of scratches. The mulberries are thrown in just in case you manage to make it through the thorns. Mulberry juice stains clothes and skin and hair.
And once past the 300 yard driveway of death, one must then tackle the field of poison ivy. Doesn't matter what you wear. This poison ivy will get you every time. It is approximately one and a half acres of three-leaved, well-trained plants patiently waiting to hop on anyone who tries to mow them down. These leaves use any bit of a breeze (which there always is on a farm in the middle of nowhere) to hurl themselves onto the mower. Where they find any teeny-tiny opening they can to wiggle in, invite their friends, and roll around the unsuspecting doofus simply trying to keep her yard tidy. I cannot tell you how many times I have had poison ivy on the inside of my thighs, on my face, on my arms, my belly, and my rear end from that awful field.
And once past that, one must mow the actual part of the yard that we use. Where the kids play and the dogs run free. Where those kids and dogs leave every imaginable toy, stick, yard tool, random piece of metal, bucket, milk jug, downspout, gym mat, croquet ball, jump rope, or bike for me to either move or accidentally run over. Let's just say that it is no fun at all to untangle a large piece of garden hose that the dog chewed off of the hose-holder out of the blades of a Dixie Chopper.
But, Neighbor and Anyone Else Who Drives by oue House, don't think that I'm not doing something productive in the time I spend avoiding the yard duties. See, I blog. And at least a few people seem to like what I say.
Suzie Q at The White House nominated me for the Liebster Blog Award. (Thank you!)
So, Neighbor and Anyone Else Who Drives by our House, please show mercy when you complain to your spouses, children, pastors, friends, and people you meet in line at the grocery store about me and my yard. I'm not lazy. (or a redneck) I may just have an event coming up, and scratches, bruises, mulberry juice, poison ivy, and torn up fingers from digging things out of the mower would really take away from my outfit.
Your Neighbor Who Didn't Know What She Was Getting Into When She Bought This House
P.S. About the Liebster Blog Award...
It is to recognize folks that are new to blogging/have less than 200 followers.
The rules are:
1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to their blog.
2. Copy & paste the award to your blog.
3. Nominate 3-5 further blogs and let them know by leaving a comment.
I shall nominate (roll the drums please)