My grass is the tallest under my fence line. I try to wheedle every bit of grass from under the fence with my zero turn tractor. I attempt to do this by dipping in and out while the perfectly engineered wheel fits under the lowest rail of the board fence. I don’t think this is a coincidence. I have a nifty weed whipper to finish off the job but even though it starts up and is eager to knock down my tall grass it makes my hands buzzy. The tall grass under the fence rails needs cut at least twice in the season. I envy those hot rod weed whippers the pros use, they must be like using a bow on a Stradivarius. I gaze at the fence lines I pass on my way into town, comparing the grass to weed ratio and the stripes of freshly mowed grass. And it’s perfection. I confess I’ve turned into a grass-o-holic since I’ve moved to Kentucky.