We also have a lot of dry grass that has sprung up over the summer. Dry grass is fire fuel. I had an idea to get down on our slope and cut it with a Toro Weedeater. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Our terrain just below the house tilts at a 45 degree angle or steeper. I have tried on occasion to negotiate that slope, only to fall and slide down on my backside, scraping my jeans in the dust halfway down before I can stop by grabbing some well-anchored vegetation. My solution to this, in order to carry out my mission, was to tie a rope to the lime tree at the top of the hill and hang on as I carefully backed down. The lifeline was actually several ropes tied together. I didn't have one single long rope.
Of course, as I was backing down the hill, I was also hanging on to my Weedeater. Not an easy thing to do. I got about halfway down, amidst a patch of the grass I intended to level, and began cutting. Work was going well, until the Weedeater malfunctioned and flew apart, sending the spool flying somewhere off into space. While I was looking for it, one of the knots let go on my makeshift lifeline and I went flying downhill, slamming into the dirt, rolling and finally coming to a stop. I had a feeling in my chest that I had broken another rib. Rats. I broke a rib earlier this summer stumbling over something in the dark outside.
But I hadn't. All this was yesterday, and the rib is fine.
Final Score: Hill 1, Russ 0
