An Acre of Weeds and Screaming Foxes

I've stayed up at our house in Santa Ynez the past two weekends and have gotten quite a taste of what rural living is really like. Having an acre of land means there's endless room for veggie gardens and succulent-scapes and our future chickens, however there's also an endless supply of weeds. They're like those errant body hairs that seem to just appear overnight.

Our sweet neighbor cleared part of the lower yard with his tractor.
I loved typing that sentence right now...

This picture so doesn't capture just how big the field of weedy grass is.
We have our work cut out for us in a major way.

In total, I spent nearly 8 hours pulling weeds and ripping out some very stubborn, rose-bush-engulfing bulbs. And I have the awful farmer's tan to prove it.

Little bastard.

The floppy green plants were taking over everything—including the roses. Not sure
what they are, but they were a beast to tear out. Mr. W filled the wheelbarrow twice
with what I removed. I think I need to buy a machete.

So much better without random 3-foot tall grasses popping up between the flowers.

Last weekend, I lucked out and had Mr. W in town to help me. He's pretty badass with the weedwacker. And he handled all the wheelbarrow runs while I showered and got ready to go wine-tasting. There is nothing better than finishing up a hard day of work in the yard with a few stops at the local tasting rooms.

I think those might have been decent plants at one time. But once they started
looking like deconstructed straw hats on steroids, we knew they needed to come out.

So the yard is in better shape. With the exception of the potential continuation of the fox situation... It all started at the beginning of March when my brother and his family stayed at the house. They were sound asleep when—somewhere from the deep recesses of the backyard—they heard a series of bloodcurdling screams. Naturally, my brother thought that someone had been brutally murdered in the structure my nieces call "the killin' shed," and that their ghost was haunting the yard.

This is my only picture of the killin' shed—from before we moved in. I promise
the yard is cleaner than it appears in this Sanford and Son shot.

A little research the next morning revealed that it was actually foxes calling each other because it was mating season. Take a listen to what it sounds like. You'll be scarred for life. 

I was fortunate enough to hear the screaming foxes myself at 2:45 a.m. one morning. What a treat. Thank goodness I'd been warned about them so I didn't go into a panic-induced seizure over the sound. 

I'm hoping the new azaleas and lavender we planted will have some sort of fox-repelling qualities. Or at least detract from the overnight-growing weeds...