… I weedwhacked the whole plot of nettles.
I started pulling them but after pulling up 100 plants I had only advanced about six inches into the fifteen-foot long thicket. I had also underestimated the claustrophobia I would feel, surrounded by four-foot plants with stinging leaves, even covered head to toe with rubber rain gear, gloves, and hat. Every time I bent to pull more nettles up by the roots, I was uneasily aware that my face was nearly brushing disaster.
Instead, I backed out, set up my weedwhacker with fresh brush blades, and waded back in, swinging the weedwhacker like a scythe and singing along with my iPod: “It is Well With My Soul.”