This is our front walkway.
I wish I could say that this lovely little tree was a unique sort of flowering shrub that was thriving under our care. But it’s not. It’s perhaps the largest milkweed ever seen within the borders of this city. Meet Weedzilla.
Weedzilla has been getting out of hand for a while. It had gotten to the point where I had to duck to get by it on the stairs. My roommates and I have been discussing for a while, “We’ve got to do something about that thing.” “I wonder if so-and-so has pruning shears.” “That’s gotten ridiculously huge.”
But since we are five women who, to my knowledge, are not that keen on yardwork, and since we own no gardening tools, it has been allowed to stay and flourish. As we talked about it and shook our heads, it kept growing and overtaking more and more of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until tonight as I was wrestling six bags of groceries up the stairs, ducking underneath the foliage, preparing to have people over to the house, that I finally put my foot down.
Weedzilla had to go.
I wish I could say that I managed to track down some gardening tools to do the job. But I didn’t. I knew, however, that we must have something in the house sharp enough to do some damage. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It was time to head for the kitchen.
As I went over to the knife block on the counter, I tried not to think about the fact that we have one of the cheapest generic knife sets ever. Instead, I thought of all those random infomercials I had run across in the past where the guy is cutting through three layers of, say, cinderblock, with his wonder-inspiring ginsu knife. Surely even our ordinary kitchen knives would be enough to show Weedzilla who was boss.
I went outside and began working on the branches overhanging our walkway. Within my first two attempts to saw away at one particularly irritating limb, I realized that this wasn’t going to be as easy as it looked on the commercials. So rather than sawing, I tried hacking through, machete-style. While it felt a bit more aggressive and dominating, it was even more resoundingly unsuccessful.
After a bit of trial and error, I found out how to actually get through. There is now a pile of branches in our front yard about two feet deep and four feet wide — and the weed doesn’t look that much different. At least you can get past it on the stairs now. So while the thing isn’t quite dead, it’s definitely wounded. I am prevailing against the plant.
Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me, Weedzilla. I’ll be back to finish the job. With a bigger knife.