Wacky Weeds

"Wait...you know I'm not eating these branches, right?"

Now that the goats have moved on, my yard is beautiful, but full of skeletons of bushes and tiny saplings - or big, big weeds, depending on your point of view. I just want them gone. It's mostly privet, and based on an article I read about privet, it's an invasive plant. You can't just cut off the goat-stripped stalks at ground level; they have to be pulled up. Otherwise, I'll just have a yard full of privet again very soon.

These trunks/stems are everywhere.

So I started investigating, and as it turns out, there are some serious issues among those who dwell in the world of weed removal, my friends. Let's just say this: if you ever get invited to a weed removal industry event, do not go.

I went online, and I found a tool called a Weed Wrench on a gardening forum. This thing apparently works miracles. It basically grabs the sapling/big weed by the neck and pries it right up out of the ground, using the Pyramid-tested power of leverage.



Awesome invention!

Problem solved! Let's get a Weed Wedge! Well, as it turns out, you can't get one of those babies for love nor money. The owner of the company has "opted out" of being in business because, as he puts it, "I am quitting in disgust and sadness that the criminal entity I am paying taxes to is demonstrably not a legitimate government. This is the one means I have of legally striking back, by eliminating my income." 

Okaaaaaaaaaaay.

I'm not linking to his site because I don't want it leaving a breadcrumb trail back to me, but feel free to check out the weedwrench.com site to learn more.  He invites us all to join him, so if you're going off the grid, you may want to chat him up.

But I'll give him credit - he's a humanitarian. He has a page that links to people and organizations in various states that will rent or lend their Weed Wrench to others. (Privet, like the government, apparently, is too intrusive to let run rampant, politics notwithstanding.) Here in Georgia, every last one of them is a non-profit that only offers to lend to other non-profits. I emailed anyway - offering to pay a nice rental fee. No response. Does the fact that I have no equity in my house qualify me as a non-profit? I guess not.

Moving on. It appears that the main competitor (or should I say successor?) to the Weed Wrench is a Canadian company called Pullerbear. Like polar bear - get it? Sounds warm and fuzzy! And look at all the different models!

Naturally, I had to read some reviews before deciding. After all, I didn't want to have to try to return this thing to Canada if I didn't like it, and it wasn't cheap. The very first page I looked at, in a section dedicated to the tool on davesgarden.com, started out with a not-so-hot review, followed by increasingly irate and irrational tirades from someone claiming to be the owner of the Pullerbear company. The posts strike out at extortion, terrorism, schilling, and more mischief, all aimed at the company by its customers. The poster even went so far as to divulge the negative reviewer's location.

What was he thinking?! That someone would empathize with his cause and take up their swords to fight his battle? "Okay, let's all go over to South Carolina and give this guy a piece of our mind, on behalf of the good people making the Pullerbear! Bring your torches and pitchforks!" Another review was tagged by davesgarden as having been company-placed.

This is a case study in how NOT to sell things, folks. Thanks, anyway, I'll pass. I don't want to risk getting angry email from some tool-wielding guy with bad judgment. Plus, I'm close enough to South Carolina that he could make one trip and tell me and the reviewer off in person. That's also why I didn't link to the review, but you can type pullerbear in the search box on davesgarden.com and it should come up. (Man, I hope the magic of Google doesn't bring these people to my blog.)

After all the drama involved in tool selection, I decided that maybe someone else who already has tools should do this job, so I went shopping on craigslist. I found an ad headed "Lot Cleanup," that mentioned debris removal, brush clearing, downed tree removal...all the things I was looking for in a guy. I thought it would be a match made in heaven. I called, he came over. As we stood looking into the yard, my craigslist conquest dumped me. "I don't think I'm the guy for you. This would be difficult and take a long time." I got the old, "It's not you, it's your yard" brush off. We parted friends, and as he walked away, he turned back and said that if I was willing to let him just cut the privet down to ground level, he was willing to do it. But I'm not ready to settle just yet. I'm holding out for the fairy tale.

The next time I am asked ask why I decided to rent goats, I will say that goats never complain that the job they are asked to do is difficult or time-consuming, nor do they stop work as a form of political protest, or crawl the web looking for opportunities to flame me.

Anyone know of an animal that just loves to uproot privet?

Herd Mentality

It's hard to believe today marks the 9th day the goats have been here. It seems like they just got here, and at the same time, like they've always been here. I've learned many of their names - Kramer, Mrs. Claus, Leather Tuscadero, Ursula, Frannie, and so many more that I can't retain - and they've learned to recognize me and come to the fence when they see me. They're friendly, like pets. I will really miss having them around. It's time for them to leave tomorrow. They ate the yard way faster than anyone thought they would. Apparently, it was quite delicious.

So, tomorrow, Michael will bring the livestock trailer, load up the goats, and take down the fence. I'll pay him, shake his hand, and probably hold back a tear or two as they drive away. Not just for the goats themselves, but for what they brought to my life.

First, the goats represented a big step for me in putting myself on the list, so to speak. I read an article once (see, I do that ALL THE TIME) about the little things that get on your nerves in big and small ways - I think the author called them irritations or something like that. (You might even say, things that get your goat. Sorry, couldn't resist.) Anyway, the point of the article was that if you eliminate these little, seemingly insignificant things, then the cumulative impact will really change your life. She was talking about things like fixing a squeaky hinge that you dread every time you open a door because it might wake a sleeping child, or getting all of your bills online to cut down on the daily mailbox clutter that piles up and makes you feel bad, or cleaning out the closet so you have room for what you actually wear...you get the idea. She wrote that we will be freer, happier, less stressed out, just by fixing little, manageable things.

She was right. That article has stuck with me for years, and has actually influenced how I do things around the house. I wish I could credit the author. I think about what irritates me and try to change or eliminate what just isn't working for me. And my front yard just wasn't working for me. It irked me. Every time I pulled into my driveway, I felt like I was failing at keeping it all together. I knew that yard was a major "irritation" and that fixing it would bring me happiness, but I was hesitant to take the step. What if I needed the money later? What if someone else needed it? What if I lost my job? What if? But I decided to act on what I know in my soul to be true: Whatever happens, it will be okay. I took a leap of faith and did it, just for me. When I look at it now, even though it is clearly a work in progress, I feel like I'm moving towards some semblance of getting it right, instead of being mired in inaction and indecision and fear. And I have about a 10,000 square foot reminder that it's fine to take a chance, put myself on the list, and do something for the sole purpose of making my life more enjoyable.

In addition to their skills as four-legged self-help gurus, the goats have brought a sense of community to the neighborhood. Neighbors and strangers stopped to see the goats every day, all day. I watched people walking on the sidewalk along the main road out front stop and chat with each other. Complete strangers, talking and laughing together! It seemed that more often than not over the past week, if it was daylight, there were cars pulled over and people in and around my yard, laughing and talking. I joined them when I could, but even when I was in my home office working, the happy sounds of laughter and sheer delight drifted up to my window. A lot of people talked about how "green" it was to use goats for landscaping work, and about how important they believed it was to take care of the environment. They even thanked me for not using chemicals. I talked to so many people - including neighbors I had never met, even though I have lived in this house since 1998. I joked that if I had a nickel for every time I've told the story of the goats, I could pay for the goat rental. A little girl looked at me and laughed when I said that, probably at the idea of me paying for something in nickels.

Saturday afternoon, I had a little party I called a "Goat Together." I invited friends to come over, enjoy a couple of drinks and some goat cheese, and watch the goats. About 15 of them did, some I hadn't seen in months or maybe years, along with at least that many neighbors and passers by. It was wonderful to see everyone talking and having a great time. I used to host parties and get togethers fairly regularly, but for various reasons, I've not done it as much in the last couple of years. Now, things are looking up, and the goats have nudged me into entertaining again. Another goat triumph!

On the day that the goats arrived, as I watched them trot into the yard and start happily munching on the English ivy, I giddily blurted out to Michael and Kristin, the goatherds, "This may be the best thing I have ever done!" As it turns out, that wasn't too far from the truth.

Erin Goat Bragh!

"Erin Go Bragh" is an Irish expression we see every year around St. Patrick's Day, plastered on t-shirts, little wooden decorative signs, and other memorabilia of the season. While it means "Ireland Forever" these days, I read an article that explained that its literal origin is in the more somber phrase "until doomsday." Here at my temporary farm, erin goat bragh meant a little taste of doomsday for a plastered St. Patrick's Day reveler in green sneakers.  He was clearly not Irish, as his luck was nowhere to be found.   

Last night, Jess, my partner, was awakened around 2:00 a.m. by loud yelling. She stepped outside, peered into the darkness, and saw a shadowy figure of a man out on the sidewalk along the main road. She heard him yell out a few times - "Wooo hooo!" - as he weaved, then fell, then weaved, then fell. Shortly thereafter, a bush blocked her line of sight, but she could hear the sound of activity and crunching leaves, which she assumed to be goat traffic, or maybe Sweet Pea investigating.  This was followed by loud exclamations of "Yes, sir!  Yes, sir!" Jess suspected the police had found him, but she leaned out to look and there was no one else around. The man continued his declarations of respect as he staggered away into the night.

As it turns out, the authority he was addressing was the electric fence. He had fallen into it, as I learned when Michael the goatherd showed up to fix the twisted and flipped section of fence. The man had apparently gotten quite tangled in it. A neighbor helpfully called Michael this morning to report the fence situation.

A bent plastic fence clasp remains as evidence of our drunken friend's struggle to free himself.

Somewhere, today, within walking distance, there is a guy with a hangover and one sneaker. We have placed the other shoe in a prominent place, should he wish to return to retrieve it.  Thanks, drunk guy, for not driving, even though walking turned out to be a bit hazardous for you as well.



Colbert Report on Landscaping Goats

Because it's funny:  Colbert Report: People Who Are Destroying America - Landscaping Goats.  As recommended by Michael, the Goatherd.

(WARNING: There's some bleeped-out cursing in this video.  Parental guidance suggested.) 

Getting my Goat(s), Part Two

Having goats in my front yard for the past two days has been full of surprises. But before I get into that, I should bring you up to speed.

When I last wrote, Michael and Kristin Swanson, of Get Your Goat Rentals, were installing the fence, as the herd of 35 goats waited patiently with their protector, Sweet Pea, a beautiful Great Pyrenees working dog.

 



Once the yard was cordoned off with a portable electric fence, it was time for the goats and Sweet Pea to check out their new assignment.

 

 

In the event that Sweet Pea and the IntelliShock 284 failed to keep everyone in line, there was a low-tech back up plan waiting in the wings. Little Bo Peep's got nothing on these goatherds.  

 

 

 

But the unloading went off without a hitch, and the goats went right to work.

 

 

And there they have been for the past two days, happily chomping away. Their efforts are already transforming my front yard - and my neighborhood. More about that in my next post. But in the meantime, here's a sneak preview. Take another look at the bush in the photo above, to the left of the picture of the IntelliShock 284. Here's what that bush looks like as of this afternoon.  It was a crowd favorite!

 

 

 



Getting my Goat(s)

So, here's what happened. I decided I could. not. live. with my front yard any longer, and I found myself with a savings account and (relative) job security, so I decided to spend some money to return my yard to its former state of making me happy.

Here's what it looked like when it made me happy (is that my yard...or Augusta National?):

Here's what it looks like today (I'm aware that it's shameful):

How did it get this way, you ask?  So many reasons, so little desire to talk about them here...

I'm usually a pretty determined do-it-yourselfer. But this time, I definitely needed to pay people to help me. People who don't wind up in the ER after touching invisible poison ivy, or being stung by invisible scorpions, and who have snake boots. I got one price from a guy who said he could solve all of my problems with a Bobcat. The heavy equipment kind, not the large feline kind. That was a little too drastic, since I still have some surviving azaleas and camellias out there, hidden and being overtaken by English ivy, wisteria, and privet.

At some point, I had read an article (there it is!) about using goats to perform lot clearing. I recalled that they don't eat azaleas... Hmm... I had called a company that specializes in such work a year or two ago. One call back, then he vanished. I tried again. No luck. So off to craigslist I went, in search of my own goats. Why couldn't I just buy some goats, I thought? But, fortunately, I found another company - a couple, actually - in the portable goat grazing business.

The next day, Michael & Kristin Swanson, the owners of Get Your Goat Rentals, came to my house, measured, and stood with me, hands on our hips, staring into the abyss that is my front yard. They had to take my word for it that there are 10 foot tall azaleas in there. I was worried about the goats - azaleas are apparently poisonous to goats. Who knew? They did. They were also unconcerned, which concerned me a bit, but I've learned to let the pros be pros.

We talked money. I live on a busy street, I said. It would be great exposure for you, I said. You could even call the local news to come do a story, I said. We arrived at a price that didn't take me out of the game. I told them I needed to sleep on it and promised to call them the next day.

That night, I got an email offering a discount if they could start tomorrow, since the goats had just finished eating a nearby yard and it would save a trip back to the farm if they could come directly to my house. "Goat people, you got yourself a deal!," I said to my computer. I still wanted to sleep on it, though. It never seemed to resolve anything, but people do it, so I was hoping the answer would be clearer in the morning.

When I woke up, much to my surprise, it actually was clear. My first thought was of an English ivy-weakened pine tree crashing through my roof. The goats will eat the bottom six feet of leaves, leaving exposed vines I can cut off - or pay someone to cut off (since there will undoubtedly be the dreaded poison ivy vines mixed in). My second thought was the picture of the dream fire pit, taped to the wall above my desk.

Long story short, they just got here. They're putting up the electric fence now, and the goats are impatiently staring out of the horse trailer, smelling like a farm.

Friends said I should blog about this experience. Since there were no blogs about it that I could find, and since my sister keeps telling me to blog, here I am. Figuring it out as I go. I named this blog after my oft-repeated preface to conversations with my friends. The one that elicits groans....

So, come along as we watch the goats eat the Jungle of Shame outside my window! Then, who knows...this blog will probably end up being about other things home and DIY-related....Or, like the ivy, it will go with the goats.