What I hate about living in the sticks

What I hate about living in the country can be boiled down to:
1.  Icks
2.  Ticks
3.  Sticks

There are just so many dirty, slimey, muddy, gooey, stinky things in the country.
And the whole blood-sucking, disease-spreading thing- that doesn't take much imagination, either.

 

But sticks as an object of loathing- as a city dweller, I didn't see that coming.

I see now why living in the sticks is a derogatory phrase for country living.

I hate sticks.
Sticks are everywhere on our property- causing an obstruction, clutching at legs and arms, scraping thorns through flesh, tripping feet, thwacking one in the face, applying burrs and prickers to every available surface.

A stake waiting to impale

Seriously, the day we rented The Mother Shredder and our branches met their Mulcher was a good, good day.  Nothing quite so satisfying as thinking bad words at inanimate objects while shoving them into a frighteningly loud, super powerful machine which chews up frustrations and spits out mulch.  Very therapeutic.  I highly recommend a good chipper shredder day.

It was also cathartic that the most irritating branches, these v-shaped ones sticking out in several directions trying to put someone's eye out, would jam even The Mother.  I took some solace as I grabbed these bad boys out of her maw that even She couldn't overcome them all.