Some people in Las Vegas are addicted to gambling, booze, or smoking. My vice is different. Ever since becoming a homeowner, I’ve developed a compulsive obsession with weeding. It’s my own personal game of Whack-a-Mole. As soon as one weed gets pulled, another sprouts up. And I can’t stop yanking ‘em out. It’s like a teenager popping a zit.
I have no interest in hiring a service or using some kind of repellent spray. (You can’t trust that stuff anyway.) I go to battle with garden gloves and a small weeding tool that looks something like this. Last year, I upgraded and bought a product called Grampa’s Weeder. It’s a long stick that allows you to pull weeds without bending over. You just stick it in the ground and step on a pedal-like piece of metal to snatch the weed and pull it out. It works okay, but I think it’s more suited for softer landscapes than our rock-hard desert dirt. Regardless, it's caused my wife to occasionally call me “Grampa.”
Most of the time though, I just happen to be outside and start yanking weeds with my bare hands. You gotta pull ‘em just right to get the whole root out of the ground. The victims are tossed into an old cardboard Amazon box and taken out with the garbage.
It’s very therapeutic.
Weeds vary by region, but I know the usual suspects in Las Vegas well. Some look like thin blades of grass. Others are chunky, purple, and ugly. A few have furry tips at the end. There’s even one that’s tiny, but spreads out in a chain-like formation, almost like Mardi Gras beads.
Worst of all – the giant ones, which grow discreetly among the branches of a “real” shrub. I just spotted one nestled within a rose bush, standing 21.3 inches tall. (I measured.) This weed is ugly and intrusive, but having the time of its life in the sunshine with the bright red roses. Little does it know, this monstrosity will become a murder victim as soon as I hop off this keyboard.
Apparently some weeds are good, while others are bad in the Mojave Desert.
They’re all the enemy to me.
Ultimately, my obsession has changed me. I’ve become incredibly judgmental, scanning my neighbors’ yards and looking down on those with weeds overtaking their property. “Do they not see what is happening here?” I ask myself while completely ignoring that I barely noticed any weeds anywhere until my wife and I bought our first house. Have I become a snob in this department? Yes, but I am a better person for it and I have the weeds to thank.
I am more than a homeowner now. I am Grampa.
