Run through the Jungle
Yes, it was another glorious day in the neighbourhood. It was either me or the grass, so I drug out the lawn mower and engaged in the most hated task in my life. Now, usually at this time of the season, I only have to mow the lawn once a week. I might can get away with waiting eight to ten days, even! Not this year. Because of the amount of moisture and heat we've already had so far, within four days, the grass is so thick, it's hard to walk through. After a week, the weeds are up to my knees (or what used to be my knees). Any time past that, and displaced Amazonian tribes are relocating to my back yard and fighting the cats for their food. This is typically what happens in July and August in the Armpit of Hell. Folks, it's only June. I don't even want to imagine what it's gonna be like in July and August. I'll have to be out there mowing every other day just to keep the subtropical overgrowth in check.
And fire ants. I've done everything I know to quash their invasion, up to and including environmentally unhealthy methods of extermination. Thanks to them, my Green Karma is very bad indeed. Because the grass gets so thick so quickly, I have no idea where the fire ant mounds are hidden. So, if I dare pause for any reason, chances are I'm standing on a fire ant mound, which means the angry little fuckers are immediately waging war on my poor pale legs. Have you ever been bitten by a fire ant? Most people think fire ants are called that because they're red. But they aren't. They look like your regular tiny black ant. The fire bit comes in their bite. And they don't just bite. They get into their biting. They latch on and start curling their bodies around in an orgasmic masticating frenzy. The longer they bite, the more it feels like a tiny fire placed into the area onto which they're attached. And you might think that brushing them away will make the pain disappear but, oh no. A couple of hours later, you're in for a world of hurt because a blister forms where their little hell mouth happened to be before. Around that blister is a wide circle of itchy red woe. This lasts for days. The more bites you have, the more horror you get to enjoy. All that said, I'm loathe to even hesitate in my own yard whilst mowing. I dash, screaming like a twelve-year old girl, pushing the lawn mower, and praying to whatever god might listen that I survive the heat, the ants, the vegetation, and the general unpleasantness that being in South Carolina presents.
That Creedence Clearwater Revival song "Run through the Jungle" might be about the Vietnam War, but it's also a very good metaphor for my ongoing war with my lawn here in the Armpit of Hell. Like I say every year, I need a goat.
And fire ants. I've done everything I know to quash their invasion, up to and including environmentally unhealthy methods of extermination. Thanks to them, my Green Karma is very bad indeed. Because the grass gets so thick so quickly, I have no idea where the fire ant mounds are hidden. So, if I dare pause for any reason, chances are I'm standing on a fire ant mound, which means the angry little fuckers are immediately waging war on my poor pale legs. Have you ever been bitten by a fire ant? Most people think fire ants are called that because they're red. But they aren't. They look like your regular tiny black ant. The fire bit comes in their bite. And they don't just bite. They get into their biting. They latch on and start curling their bodies around in an orgasmic masticating frenzy. The longer they bite, the more it feels like a tiny fire placed into the area onto which they're attached. And you might think that brushing them away will make the pain disappear but, oh no. A couple of hours later, you're in for a world of hurt because a blister forms where their little hell mouth happened to be before. Around that blister is a wide circle of itchy red woe. This lasts for days. The more bites you have, the more horror you get to enjoy. All that said, I'm loathe to even hesitate in my own yard whilst mowing. I dash, screaming like a twelve-year old girl, pushing the lawn mower, and praying to whatever god might listen that I survive the heat, the ants, the vegetation, and the general unpleasantness that being in South Carolina presents.
That Creedence Clearwater Revival song "Run through the Jungle" might be about the Vietnam War, but it's also a very good metaphor for my ongoing war with my lawn here in the Armpit of Hell. Like I say every year, I need a goat.