Cheatgrass

I suit up for the battle. Sandals so I don't have socks that catch the daggers, a wide brim sun hat. Gloves. I fill wheelbarrows with the easily pulled, fragile stalks

While

Leo Schuman

was contemplating the dandelions in his yard, I was girding myself to stem the tide of cheatgrass from mine. In our Volley essay series, we respond to each other’s writing with a piece of our own. Here we are, contemplating the different ways to approach weeds and how they are a part of community.

I had some friends over of a weekend and we were lounging in my back yard in the Spring sun. A neighbor walking by suggested unkindly that my friends help me pull up the cheat grass along the fence.

Cheatgrass is not just a weed, it is a noxious weed. The Department of Agriculture has condemned it as such: Something destructive to other uses of land and rather good at taking over; a constant, unsolvable curse upon a land.

The previous owner of my acre-and-a-little-bit had a vision for the space. The front area is somewhat native and wild, the back yard is plantings of the sort that folks like around houses. The back is less concerned with what is native. It relies on me keeping the watering system functioning. The front area, if left alone but for a light touch, will repel most unwanted plants. I wander the acre regularly and pull up the soft green baby Russian thistle.

I am now the husband to this idea of owned land. I have found some small sage brush that had been mowed to nubs and wondered if I could encourage them to grow slowly to grandeur. I wonder how much mowing was really necessary.

We shall see, because I have not mowed in almost two years. The tall grass bunches are not strong at the base. I am curious if I am creating too much fuel for our shared fear, fire. 

Then there is the cheatgrass. It was not prevalent in my yard last year, but it has found a toe hold. My dog created a couple routes racing about my yard. Torn up soil crust like that under a speeding dog (or car tires, or shovels, or boots) is just the entry cheatgrass needs. Those routes turned green, then purple with cheatgrass. Soon it will yellow.

I suit up for the battle. Sandals so I don't have socks that catch the daggers, a wide brim sun hat. Gloves. I fill wheelbarrows with the easily pulled, fragile stalks. Soon I will I have nearly a truck load of their durable seeds drying on my property. I tarp the pile in hopes that they stay contained. My understanding is that I can water that pile and cover it. The fermenting action will super heat the seeds and kill them. 

Cheatgrass is ubiquitous here, and when I was a kid I did not know that it was not native. It has been here for over 100 years by now, so no one I know can report a Central Oregon without cheatgrass everywhere. 

My grandmother imagined that land, though. She had a similar size of property not far from here. She would pick all the cheatgrass she came across. It seemed such a useless effort to me, this old woman in conversation on the gravel driveway, bending over to pull another stem.

But eventually her land was free enough of the devilish weed that you saw the native plants, not the green-to-purple-to-blonde fronds waving like a thousand middle fingers at the stoic rabbit brush, buckwheat, and flax.

This is our protection: the native soil crusts and enough hope to make an effort. Maybe a little bit of neighborly shame.

Next door to me is a house that keeps quite a different view of how to manage land. They grow up whatever comes about the yard - Russian thistle, foxtail, and cheatgrass enjoy their chewed up soil — then occasionally fire up the riding mower and hack it all down. I swear I can see the seeds catch the breeze and soar my way. Other neighbors text me in cursing aggravation as he draws dust circles with his machine. 

Now, Grandma, I am weeding my bit of desert. In concerted effort I roll the wheelbarrow to these routes the dog drew for the cursed weed. And like you, as I walk to and fro throughout my day, I pause to pull out the shallow-rooted Russian thistle, the busty and deep rooted dandelion, and the nearly invisible whisps of single pioneer cheatgrass.