The Root Of The Problem

While I enjoy a well-manicured lawn, I am not the kind of person who feels the need to fill my yard with lots of brightly-colored plants in the name of aesthetics. I tend to go for a more minimalist vibe, especially when it comes to the area of my yard by street. I think a few bushes are more than enough to show I care, but not going require so much maintenance that I am out there every weekend. Still, even though I am not actively trying to up my curb appeal just to impress the neighbors I am also not trying to make things worse. Last year I noticed there were some thorny plants growing near the street. They came out of the ground in clumps and while your average rose bush can produce some massive thorns at least you get some pretty flowers as well. These didn't give you anything except extremely large and sharp thorns. Seriously, there was nothing useful about them. Not only can I not imagine someone planting these on purpose, I don't even see a use for them in nature. Anyway, I cut them down in the fall and hoped the harsh winter would finish them off but unfortunately that didn't happen. In fact, they came back with a vengeance. Even though we have only had a few warm days this spring these thorn vines had already started to come up (because it is always the stuff you didn't plant and don't want to grow which comes in the heartiest, whereas the things you plant with care and water religiously die within a month) and due to their location they had actually started to encroach onto the sidewalk. I don't want my house to be the one on the block where people have to cross to the other side when walking passed so I decided this year cutting them down wasn't going to be enough, I had to go deeper.

The (lying) weathermen had told me Sunday was supposed to be nice and so I went out equipped with long sleeves, heavy gloves and a seriously sharp pair of hedge clippers. After getting the thorn branches out of the way I turned my attention to the leftover stumps and the attached roots. I knew getting down to the roots was not going to be easy, but at the same time I didn't think I would have to dig to China and I expected that once I got there they wouldn't be a problem to pull out. Turns out I was double wrong because not only had I underestimated how deep the roots went (silly me, I was thinking these things would play fair), but pulling them out was like trying to figure out a subway system in a city I had never been in before. First the roots went in every direction and then they went on for a much longer distance than expected. Every pull on a root resulted in the ground three feet to my left coming free and just when I thought I was getting to the end the root would take a sharp turn and disappear even deeper into the ground, half of them going behind rock formation which would require digging up half my lawn if I wanted to make sure I had eradicated the source of my problem. And that was just on the roots I could actually get to the bottom of.

They say 80% of icebergs are under the surface of the water and I think that ratio applies to root systems as well. Some of the clusters had bases as thick as sapling under the ground and in trying to wedge them out using a shovel I was solidly convinced the shovel would snap well before the roots ever did. I eventually had to just cut some of them as low as I could get or I would have been out there all day. Even worse was that the roots were coated in some sort of slick material. Not sure if it was dirt or some kind of (no doubt skin-irritating) oil, but half the time my hand did more sliding than pulling. (Given my history with poison ivy I immediately showered with all the itch-killing lotions I have in my house - so far so good.) You know, I wouldn't have minded all this work if I felt I was accomplishing my goal, but I can't even claim victory. Despite literally pulling a trash barrel full of roots and thorns out of the ground I am resigned to the fact that it was all for not because I didn't come close to getting them all. The majority of these roots are still below the surface and working their way towards the sun, which means these thorny vines will be back, probably before summer even starts.

I've since come to the conclusion that if I want these things permanently gone I'm going to have to play dirty. I guess I could just coat that area in every chemical known to man, but I would rather not pollute the soil, especially since I may want to plant something there eventually. So, I went to our old friend the internet and tried to find out A) what this plant may actually be called and B) how to kill it. Sadly, there was little information on either. It appears no one on the planet knows why these thorn bushes are on their property, nor has anyone found a fool-proof way to get rid of it. The best idea anyone can come up with is just to rip up as much of the root as you can. Since that was my first idea, it is pretty obvious science hasn't been much of a help in this fight. I knew I was in trouble when one website suggested I would have to come back in September and cut them just before the Harvest Moon. When a gardening site is to the point of suggesting an Old Wives' Tale based on the location of the moon as a legitimate solution to your problem you can see just how desperate people are getting. If anyone out there has any thorn-killing remedies which don't require I wait until Jupiter has aligned with Saturn they would be appreciated. But if you can't give me one of those, I'll settle for a reliable lunar chart because I certainly don't want to have to do this again next spring.