Rhubarb (Part 2)

As part of our ongoing suggestion to the neighbor’s kids to stay off my lawn, the raised bed project continues.  And this time, the ancient rhubarb has made it to the next plot.

The plant was eager, having provided us multiple desserts last year despite growing in just a few inches of potted soil, so I expect it’ll be even more productive now.

It also seems like one more official step to making the land part of the Moorhead clan lineage, as it now hosts a portion of the official Moorhead Rhubarb.

And, stay off my lawn!

–Simon

Nazeem

I picked up Skyrim again.  I do love me some Oblivion, but once the latter’s quests are completed, the world feels a bit empty.  Skyrim, on the other hand, has its Radiant quest system and unique dungeons, so there’s always something to do and somewhere to explore.

And it was between these explorations that I wandered back into Whiterun to pawn my loot.  I had also been leveling archery, and I had a bow equipped.  I was experimenting with it, as I had recently taken a perk to slow time when drawing the bow, and was unwisely priming the weapon while in the town square.

It was at this moment that everyone’s favorite character, Nazeem, approached and began his usual line of condescension.  Ordinarily, he just jeers passersby without formally starting conversation, but for some reason, perhaps because I had my bow drawn, his comment began the conversation mode.  This had the amusing side-effect of loosing the arrow, which then caught Nazeem in the neck mid-sentence.

With a cry, he collapsed, dead.

I was amused, certainly, and completely without remorse, like when a Halo marine dives in front of my warthog.  The town guard, however, was not amused.  Apparently brazen murder was still frowned upon, even when the victim was generally disliked by the townsfolk.  Fortunately, my heroic deeds earlier in the game had earned me the title of Thane, and so I had been granted one get-out-of-jail-free card.  I informed the arresting officer of my status, and he left.

To show my disregard for human life (for now I was a callous murderer), I stripped Nazeem of his possessions and left his naked corpse to rot in the street.  And I shot another arrow into him, just for fun.

Then another guard approached me (apparently oblivious to the recent conversation) and questioned me about the body, and if I knew anything about the recently departed’s death.  I assured him that I did not, and my smooth choice of words had him on his way.

I used this newfound confidence to then murder the town’s ranting preacher–the one who screams 12 hours a day.  So if nothing else, the streets are a tad more pleasant to walk now.  Saving the world is so cliché–nay, this is my gift to the good people of Whiterun.

–Simon

Salad Bowl

So the kid’s garden last year didn’t exactly work out as well as I had hoped.  This was mostly due to the fact that she wouldn’t water it, and I had become increasingly lazy about it; so it dried up, save the thyme, but thyme lives through anything.  Then the survey determined it to be on Tim’s side.  So instead of replanting the same plot, I repurposed a large plastic pot, and indulged her with whatever seeds she wanted from Lowe’s.

As it turns out, she had planted mostly lettuce.

And it did incredibly well.

…we’re still eating salads.

–Simon

Man Up–Get a Reel Mower!

My very early memories of Dad mowing the lawn were of the reel mower variety.  At the time, this was San Diego and a small rental property.  After the move to Lubbock, however, the reel mower very quickly was replaced with what we now know as the “standard” gasoline-powered rotary mower.  I understand the size of the new lawn and the toughness of that southern Bermuda had a hand in the decision to switch.  I was too young to give much thought to the matter, and that heavy, noisy steel goliath eventually became my own baptism into the world of lawn-mowing.  And I hated every minute of it.

And that damn mower made the move to Toledo, and my continued misery in a now far more humid climate.  I certainly never missed the chore after moving out.

Then we bought a house and I was required to revive my long-reviled domestic duty and purchase a mower.  And since the gas mower was all I knew, that’s what I bought (although 20 years had led to a few more technological advancements in fuel economy and weight).  So once again, in the miserably-humid summers of Ohio, I push a noisy hunk of steel and aluminum across a half acre of grass in a suburban ritual of begrudging duty (yet steadfastly opposed to hiring a landscaping company to do the task for me).  And I hate every minute of it.

But humanity’s collective attention span is short, and the pendulum has begun swinging back.  Whispers of a better mower began to emanate from the Internet’s consciousness, and I remembered Dad’s old mower.  So I began asking, for I had been too young to mow when my parents had abandoned the reel mower.  Surely someone has a positive memory of using such antiquated and manual technology.

I asked Liz.  I think her response was something along the lines of “That sucked” or “Fuck that” or “Hell no”, or some variant of vulgar discontent.  Then again, mowing would of course be unpleasantly remembered by anyone who had to mow the lawn as a youth, despite the equipment involved, because no kid ever in the history of ever has enjoyed chores.  So for a more impartial opinion less steeped in vindictive bias, I consulted the Village Elder.

But his response was about the same.  In fact, he was the one who tried to convince me that I should buy a riding mower when we moved in.  So in the end, I knew no one who had a positive anecdote, and the idea drifted from mind.

Then Father’s Day arrived.  Liz, with her always half-ironic mentality, gave me a modern reel mower.  And just like that, the discussion saw resolution.  I would use one of these despised icons of American lawn maintenance of yore.

I carried the contraption out to the yard (it weighs about 25 pounds), placed it in the grass, and pushed.  The metal on metal squeal was louder than expected, but eventually I realized that the blades needed adjusting.  I backed them away from the cutting bar slightly, and the squeal lessened.  And, the mower became much easier to push.


In fact, it was significantly easier to push then a gas mower.  That was unexpected.  It also cut cleaner.  But most importantly, it’s quiet, meaning I can cut the lawn late in the evening and avoid the brutal sun of the midwestern afternoon.  And since there’s no deadly spinning sword of death below, I don’t have to worry about gearing up with proper footwear prior to using it.  And it doesn’t require gas.  And the grass grows back quicker now.  I guess that could be good or bad, depending on perspective, but I imagine it indicates a healthier lawn.  In fact, the only real downside is that it’s not as wide, so more passes are required, and since there’s no vortex action, some of the grass doesn’t always get pulled up into the blades.

But apart from these two downsides, I find that the advantages far outweigh the drawbacks.  And, while I’ll never win the power equipment arms race against my neighbors, I’m happy to win pretentiousness points.

In all seriousness, I don’t know why more people don’t use these, apart from bad childhood memories and gas mowers being the current default.  I tried to explain the benefits to my neighbors, but they laughed and continue to jeer me from afar, mocking me openly for my apparent naive stupidity.  Ah well.  I’m just happy that the core’s misery has been lessened.

–Simon

More Solicitors

Here’s a couple more doorbell captures, so I’m going to keep posting these in an ongoing wall of shame.  Go away!

I really need to remove that tree stump so landscapers stop dropping by
She’s wearing a name badge, so totally legit

–Simon