Weed Warrior

One distinct childhood memory I have is my dad bringing a sack of dirt home. When I first saw it, I was completely confused. So was my mother, especially when he put some dirt in the oven. It turns out he brought the dirt home to test its fertility. Well, you're probably wondering where he got the dirt. He had gone out to Homer, Illinois and dug up some dirt from a seven-acre plot of land he was potentially going to buy. At the time, I didn't think much of this. 

My dad, satisfied with the quality of the soil and the price of the land, purchased the land in early 2011. He then began planning out what he wanted to do with it. I remember seeing pieces of graph paper in his office with a map of the land mapped out. His large-scale plan was to create an orchard of sorts, with many types of fruit-bearing trees, primarily Chestnut trees.

 However, it wasn't going to be easy. The first year of the land was a complete disaster, in fact.  My dad had slightly underestimated something- weeds. Without the various strong herbicides that the previous owners had used, all hell broke loose. Every square foot of those seven acres was covered in ten-foot-tall monstrous woody weeds. Trying to pull them out by hand was no use- there were simply too many.

So, my dad loaned the most badass lawnmower he could find from "Awesome Machines" here in Champaign. Sadly enough, even that monster didn't stand a chance against the weeds from Hell- the blade became bent, rendering it completely ineffective. My dad was quite pissed- I think he was forced to buy a replacement blade. I remember him having an argument of sorts with an employee there. The employee said there's no way weeds could bend a metal blade. I think my Dad said the blade was dull when he rented the machine.

Regardless, my dad had been able to mow down most of the weeds. Not all of them, however. I don't remember how we fully solved the weed problem. However, one method we tried at the time was using gardening hoes. I remembering swinging a hoe like it was a baseball bat (not the best form). I kept at it for what seemed like hours, cutting down weeds left and right. My brothers were working alongside me, doing the same. Unfortunately, we weren't really being careful and checking what was around us. Eventually, my luck ran out. I had just completed a swing, and so I began bringing the blade of the hoe above my head to swing again. There was one problem- my brother Charlie's head was in the way. The blade connected with his head and he yelled out in pain. My dad immediately ran over and scolded me for being such a careless idiot. Feelings of guilt and fear swept over me- was my brother going to be OK? We rushed to the car, and Charlie found some paper towels that he stuck to his head- they turned red with blood. Strangely, however, I don't remember him crying, even though I definitely was. Anyways, the cut turned out to be fairly minor. My brother didn't even need stitches. Still though, the cut stays with him today. A small bump on his scalp remains from an incident that happened years ago.