The Enemy

I've been kvetching for a few weeks about all the weed whacking My Beloved and I have been doing to clear our bottom hill of the excess biomass with which Mother Nature has seen fit to bless us over the roughly 10 years that we have neglected the Lower Forty, as we are calling it. Well, this is the nastiest part of the job - the wild blackberries.

The ivy was merely stubborn, the dead stumps fell under the saw's attack, and the saplings gave way to our giant loppers wielded by MB in a glorious show of manliness, but the blackberries were a worthy opponent.

I cleared the last of these nasties out today and emerged victorious but bathed in sweat, huffing and puffing from having dragged my victims up the hill to the lawn waste recycling bin, and criss-crossed with bloody scratches from the thorns. I may have conquered, but they didn't yield easily.

Bruce Willis would be proud of us both, me the victor and they, the valiant vanquished. Of course, they'll be back for the sequel next year.