My Garden Wants to Kill Me

The biggest problem in the garden? The garden is a patch of about half an acre in the middle of a fenced acre of thick native thatch populated by the most hostile, pain-inducing stickers. The stickers are broken up by occasional cacti, fire ant mounds and needle-thorned mesquite.  Even when I was working on it regularly, stickers were a constant battle.  I had to wear heavy boots, gloves, and layers of denim.  I did my best to mow around the cultivated patch and create a kind of demilitarized zone, but the incursions from hostile plant life were frequent and unrelenting.

Now after six months of neglect, the garden has returned to its natural state of hostility to human flesh.  My puny little mower stalls out every few feet.  And with the children now, I don't have long stretches of time to devote to two-feet-at-a-time mowing. What's more, I can't take the kids with me to the garden because there are two many things out there that want to pierce tender young hides.

So what to do?  Do I buy a more powerful mower?  Hire someone with a tractor to plow the whole acre under and plant more flesh-friendly ground cover?  Give the project up as a folly?  I'm open to ideas.

The Cruelest Plant

This pretty, bright green, delicate plant seems to grow wherever soil has been disturbed. In the open field where I have my garden, that means it primarily grows wherever I am trying to work -- at the edges of the garden berms, around the raised beds, any place I've planted fruit trees or berries. I mulch pretty heavily but it still finds a foothold.

Don't let its lovely heart shaped leaves fool you. It's a killer. The tiniest touch leaves bright red streaks on my skin, and mean, lingering sting. I mean this plant causes some serious pain. Here's a measure that anyone from around here should respect: I'd rather be bitten by fire ants than encounter this plant. Aahh, now you understand.