This blog has mentioned before that men are creatures of action.
Sure, we spend 99% of the time in our recliners. But that other 1%? When we are in the yard and armed with cutting devices? We are creatures of action.
And once we get a head of steam?
There. Is. No. Stopping. Us.
We will cut and saw and slash and burn the greenery until the cows come home. And then we will cut and saw and slash and burn the cattle. It’s what men do.
Tragically, this angers women folk — namely, the Missus and, even worse, Mother Nature.
We men think greenery should be trimmed to within an inch of its life. That way you don’t have to trim it again until next year. Or maybe never, if you did a really good trimming job and it died.
Women believe trimming trees should be done as carefully as brain surgery. Or even hair styling, for crying out loud.
Plus our Missus, and Mother Nature, nurture and dearly love some truly evil plants and trees. Why? Because at some point, they explode into a wondrous range of reds and yellows and general prettiness.
It makes the women folk all misty eyed.
It makes the men folk want to go to war because these so-called harmless plants and trees make napalm.
Case in point, we give you the Rhus tree (toxicodendron). This blog does not speak Latin, but we can only assume the name translates to “turns a man’s body into a giant red rash”.
A few days ago, the blog hit that active 1% of the time. We decided to get out of our recliner (read “get away from the Missus”), and go out into the yard.
We honestly had no intention of actually cutting anything. But the blog lives in Titirangi, which is Maori for “The Fringe of Heaven”.
Here, Mother Nature insists that everything grows quickly. So if you don’t stay on top of it, you will find yourself living inside a tree, because greenery will grow around you as you sleep.
Lately, the “privacy vines” the Missus planted long ago on the lattice fence have become aggressive, grabbing me by the sleeve and dragging me out of the Honda. So the blog decided to grab the small hedge trimmer and make them pay.
But, of course, one thing led to another. In short order, the vine trimming session turned into our annual All Out War Against Mother Nature.
We hauled out the 12-foot-long, spring loaded, two section, rope driven Secatur of Death that will cut through steel.
And we decided to attack the stupid Rhus tree that has been covering the camper van with leaves and sap and blocking our bedroom’s sun.
This is the same tree that, two years ago, was home to approximately 11 thousand kazillion bees that were so LOUD that the blog, without his hearing aids on, could hear the bees and their threats.
“Touch this tree, our home, and you will die a very painful and stingy death.”
So I had to leave the stupid Rhus tree alone.
But there are no bees this year. Hee hee hee.
So the blog decided to “trim it back”. And by “trim it back” we mean “kill the bastard”.
For about an hour, the blog and his bad neck, looked skyward, and, without putting too fine a point on it, we cut the absolute crap out of the stupid sappy, bee-attracting Rhus tree.
Sure, while we did it, the limbs would frequently fall straight down and pierce our head. But no matter.
Manly blogs do not care about minor flesh wounds when we are in cutting rut.
After the work and sweat and head wounds and cursing were done, we gathered up all the branches and leaves and carried them deep into the primordial jungle out back. This took many, many armfuls.
Even though we were itching a little bit, being a manly kind of blog, we decided to celebrate our great victory by relaxing and having a beer before going inside to use the toilet and hit the shower.
An hour later, after hosing ourselves off, we felt all refreshed, but we noticed a few red marks on our face. This did not disturb us, because manly blogs wear our War Wounds with pride.
Until they become SUPER ITCHY BUMPS that cover about 97% of our body including, and there is no way to say this delicately, the Johnson Region.
After three days, we have yet to find the right combination of creams and pills and vinegars to eliminate the allergy related itchy bumps.
And I quote from the one of the Missus’ many books on Mother Nature:
Allergy: Toxicodendron species contasin oleoresins known collectively as urushiol.
In susceptible individuals (read “the blog”), these compounds trigger a type IV delayed hypersensitivity reaction: a “bullous allergic contact dermatitis in vitro Johnson Zone”.
So we are off to the grocery store and pharmacy for more drugs and lotions and possibly a flame thrower.
Mother Nature 1; the Blog 0.
Why do the women always win?
Go HERE for other stories about men being stupid out in the yard.