When I’m all messy and guests ask me if I’ve been out gardening, I tell them, “No, it’s more like I’ve been out wild-ing”. We are making an effort to plant low-maintenance, native shrubs, trees and wildflowers to repopulated the hillsides around the B&B. This started back in October 2006 when we hired some guys to spray the barren dirt with
a green slurry of wildflower and rye grass seed. The California poppies, dianthus, floxglove and other wildflowers that come back each year make me so happy. However, I do have a beef with the rye grass. While the rye grass was supposed to be a temporary plant that didn’t reseed well, many farmers around us grow it for hay, including the 28 acres across the street. When that much rye grass does even a little bit of reseeding, we are inundated with this allergy-inducing, shrub-smothering pesky plant.
I mean, seriously… I bit my tongue sneezing this week.
And the poor flowering quinces, barely two feet tall, can’t see the sun on account of this rye grass. This is war.
Bring on the GrassHog. Each day this week I have spent a bit of time whacking back the grass. I know Curt has a big monster of a gas-powered brush cutter, but my GrassHog has just the right balance of finesse and power without too much weight. It’s like we found each other on an online dating site… we’re a match.
Little by little, I am reclaiming our newly planted shrubs and trees. I am bringing sunlight to the land. And even though I still sneeze, I feel some sense of revenge against the flowering grass. I might not rule these 15 acres like I did my ’burb lot, but we yet may succeed in taming our piece of wild.