I am become death, the destroyer of lawns
For reasons that seemed appropriate at the time, my wife's online shopping excursion led her into one of the darker and stranger corners of the interweb. She returned, scarred and weary, bearing this. Mother Earth Shopping is offering for sale, The Scythe Book, 2nd ed. At first, I am intrigued. Scythes, you say? Until I read the blurb:
Instead of trying to find time to workout at the local gym, this book tells how you can get a healthful workout while silently mowing your property using a scythe.
Get in shape while (silently) looking like bathouse, squirrelbait crazy. If I tried to mow my lawn with a scythe, I'd likely be arrested before I finished the front. I wonder, if Mother Jones started to offer books together as packages like Amazon, what they would mate up with this gem? How to make you own very large black cloak from pocket lint? Death and You, Mythology and Holistic Home Gardening? For every one indisputably cool thing that Mother Earth might have, there are a thousand of these boners.
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At the risk of devoting more
At the risk of devoting more of my scarce computing capacity to this issue, I am curious how this works.
Because, your shit has to pretty effing high to cut it with a effing scythe, nu? Like, so high that your neighbors would likely have just cut it for you out of civic neccessity long beforehand.
And just by having grass higher than your waist, you're *already* banananutbreadwithwalnuts kooky.
I never want to live anywere
I never want to live anywere where my neighbor would feel the need to cut my lawn for me, without permission, against my wishes, out of some civic duty, or bizarre social more. That's just bent.
GL/B,
GL/B,
I though scythes were for cutting down fields of wheat? But yeah, most places have zoning laws that don't let you grow the grass too high. I believe that Buckethead and his wife are thinking of moving back to the land and getting away from the neighbors who care about such things. 'Fenced in or fenced out?' is the question.