Getting the green out of the grey
Time to dust off my old Latin texts, in the search for a recipe. I remember something about the ground around Carthage getting salted as an answer to stopping crops.
I don’t have a garden; I have a lawn. Much more work with not much back in the way of useful harvest, unless you keep bunnies in the basement. In keeping with local custom, the lawn area is carefully delineated; separation from the rest of the grounds is mandatory. And, for some reason, the other section (more commonly called “driveway”) has been invaded.
Impossible to mow, because we decided ever and ages ago to have the car parked on a layer of “river run gravel”. Don’t ask, I don’t know. This morning, before temperatures peaked, I went out and started pulling green from grey. Not much fun, there. The grass has developed a root mass that resembles wool. Wool like you find on the back of the sheep who lives down the lane. And the root mass has gathered the layer of gravel close to its heart, meaning that the mass is heavy.
I’ve got a lovely pile of biomass, drying on the walkway. Maybe, tomorrow, I can shake a few fistfuls of pebbles free, and fill in the little ditch I’ve added to the driveway.
But back to the salting idea. I wonder how much is needed to eschew any further chance of growth in the designated area? Would the neighbours question my effort, or add it to their list of anecdotal behaviour glitches beside my name (which they can’t pronounce)?
