Weeding numbs the human mind. Chemical-free hop farming has included many hours on hands and knees, dig-chasing networked spindles of grass, twisting impossible roots, and mostly beating up knees. The satisfaction of honest work quickly gives way to the mental challenge of steadfastness. Then, the wild-eyed, loopy murmuring-to-self, which spirals down, down, down to an insight-less contemplative thunk. When weeding, the mind itself becomes the micro landscape between hop crowns, interlaced mulch, soil and plant matter: tug, yank, whoops! Dang, there went a rhizome…there went an investment, an intention, a neural structure of purpose. The whole body becomes a neck-kink sundial upon which meals and sky are not indicated. One row done.
Not this year, boy. Not with the Red Dragon 400,000 BTU Propane Vapor Torch with Squeeze Valve. This is my sword from the stone. With it, love of Earth transforms to a lusty witness of Mother Nature’s uninvited species frying helplessly beneath the unwavering presence of focused thermal combustion.
As Robert Oppenheimer quoted from the Bhagavad-Gita: "Time am I, destroyer of worlds." Whoo hoo!
Flame weeders and their results: