I wonder, do you live on a corner lot?

If not please count your lucky stars daily.

Corner lots, the one upon which Good Wife Norma and I live for instance, have little to recommend them as this week’s Big Blow once again pointed out.

Corner lots are, if nothing else, kind of bigly. This results in excessive mowing made even more unbearable in my case by the labyrinth of root tentacles that spread far and wide across the ground from our two accursed maple trees. I would have both immediately sawed off and giggle as they toppled but, alas, GWN will have none of it. She has this bizarre thing about shade. Quite strange.

A bold and progressive new neighbor around the corner took tools in hand and removed long spans of surface roots from his tree. Rooted them right out.

I envy both his physical strength (he confirmed it was killer work) and even more so the bridal largesse he enjoys that permitted him such a practical solution in the first place.

Mowing our big corner is taxing and time consuming, sometimes to the point of threatening my fishing trips. (Ok, you got me. Full disclosure: Yardwork will never, ever stand between me and my boat.)

The fact our turf is largely of the zoysia variety of grass helps immensely. This year it exhibited nary a sprig of green until something like mid-May. Until then it remained wonderfully straw-colored and pathetic. Small sprigs of encroaching bluegrass and similar pests, on the other hand, remained troublesome by their insistence upon early growth.

Then these burdens were exacerbated by this week’s near-80 mph, bark stripping gusts.

As a result, Friday morning I was left no option but to take grabber in hand, casually stroll the yard for perhaps 20 minutes in my slippers and collect sticks. The whole lot fit comfortably inside an already half-full trash container with the lid closed. The small leafy stuff that remained was vacuumed up during a routine mowing.

I am fully aware other folks in town lost entire trees accompanied by attendant damage to homes and vehicles but (this time) those trees did not belong to me.

That makes all the difference, doesn’t it?

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