Willful weeds ruining spectacular view
The weeds have grown past the top of the fence again, and my outlook has changed.
I live on a hill overlooking a vast, green valley. When I toured this house three years ago, I made up my mind to buy it before even stepping inside. The agent and I walked to the back of the property and there it was: a sweeping view of the valley with the twinkling Pittsburgh skyline tucked into the horizon.
But this time every year, that vista is blocked by gnarly weeds and rogue shrubs that cling to the fence. This tends to happen in July, but it’s been a bit dry the past two weeks, so the overgrowth is a bit behind schedule.
Chop them down, you say?
I am perched here atop a cliff. A fence separates me, my patio and 20 feet of yard from an abrupt drop. If I were to climb through or over the fence – and why would I do that? – I would be perched on a precipice the width of a swimming pool ledge. Everything beyond that would be a tumble into the deep.
Last year I tried to solve the problem from the bottom up, spraying vinegar at the roots. The weeds survived and grew taller. A worker on the landscaping team climbed through the fence and then quickly exited. He’d found a bit of poison hemlock, and noted that he knew of a co-worker who ended up in the hospital because he touched that diabolical plant.
I see none of that white-flowered plant this year, only leafy, shrubby things that bend and rustle in the breezes that flow up over the hill. Yesterday I walked to the fence and reached across hoping to grab the top of a plant to pull it toward me and chop it off at the neck. If my personal center of gravity were higher, I’d have pitched myself over the fence and down the hill.
Plan B may involve my very tall daughter. She and her less-tall but strong husband are coming for dinner today. I may point out the weeds and see what they think. Maybe attach a rope around one of the kids and let the other hang on? Use the rope to lasso the weeds? Send them to Home Depot to rent a very long hedge trimmer?
It’s always something with my back yard. Last year it was the spotted lantern flies, a plague of biblical proportions that brought swarms of the black and red little jerks up through the valley to attach themselves to my house. I couldn’t walk out to water my plants without being carpet bombed. I’ve seen only a handful of the bugs this year, but that annoyance was replaced by the intense sun and sweltering temperatures that kept me away.
This week has brought perfect, breezy evenings and no bugs, but nothing pretty to look at. The forecast says we’re in for another stretch of warm and dry days, so maybe the weeds won’t grow any taller while I try to figure out how to sack them all. Maybe I’ll place an ad for a rock-climbing-repelling-landscaping horticulturist. I’ll bet some AI genius could build me that exact robot to come and kill the weeds.
Last weekend, my friend came over to spend the sunny afternoon on the patio. When the pizza delivery fellow came to the door, he handed me the box and looked back over his shoulder.
“What a spectacular view up here,” he said. “You’re lucky.”
“Sure am,” I said. Lucky, with a few obstacles.