I sheepishly poked my head out to check on my tomatoes and discovered the temperature wasn't too blistering and the breeze was actually pretty nice. So I decided to get some more work appropriate pants on and pull out some weeds (read: I put on my terribly fitting khakis circa 2002. I don't know what possessed me to buy khakis in the first place. I've never liked them. Now they're probably about three sizes too large for me, and I wear them around the yard. Rolled up to my knees. Stylish like.) I've wanted to yank out the thistles that have been growing through the downed fence for quite some time, and I haven't because I didn't really want to do anything around that fence. I've just wandered by it with the lawnmower and stared at it through the window for the last, oh, 6 or 7 months.
So I'm standing there, balanced on the rocks (that apparently form some sort of rock garden the previous owners thought would be an excellent idea), trying to reach for the thistles more towards the (once) top of the fence; and finally, I thought, that's it. I can't take it anymore. Not that I could take it before, but I'd just had enough of it. I'd had enough of staring at the motorhome. I'd had enough of staring into the motorhome. I'd had enough of staring at my plants struggling to grow through the fence. I'd had enough of staring at thistles happily growing through the fence. I'd just had enough. So I called someone. Do you fix fences? Can you fix this fence? Estimates.
I thought that looked like a raspberry cane.
It looks like we'll get some tomatoes.
Globe thistle. Idle Wife approved.
Deadheading the rose bush looks harsh, but it pays off in the long run.