People 2, Buckthorn 0

Before I became a co-homeowner a decade ago, I didn't know the difference between buckthorn and Buck Owens. However, when you live with it in your backyard, you learn quickly what a vile thing buckthorn really is.

According to the DNR, it is an invasive species that is popular hedging material. There is another less polite word for it. The damn thing is a weed that, given a chance, can take over an area quickly. Once in place, it moves faster than Bob Hayes in his prime.

It is also an ugly thing, given to spreading in several directions at once.

All of which makes today's victory sweet, indeed.

It started as a simple battle. My wife was clearing out an area of weedage in the backyard. A couple of years ago, I had sprayed Round Up all over a bunch of buckthorn stumps and then covered them with old coffee cans. Thus deprived of life, the buck finally stopped there. It didn't get any better but not did it shrink much.

Seeing Lynne in the backyard hacking away at weeds inspired me into action. Before I knew it, I had made it my day's mission to wipe out some of the buckthorn stumps that were trying to hang on to ruin the backyard view.

I chose a smaller member of this insidious tribe as my first victim. I started hacking away only to discover this species has some very deep roots. The little spade I had wasn't up to the task at all. So, I went back to the garage and found every shovel we had. For half an hour, I took battering this immovable object turns with three different shovels, a saw, a clipper, a mallet and a hammer. Finally, I saw a glimmer of hope. There was just one root left to eliminate. I twisted it this way and that and - presto - the root grudgingly gave in.

Victory over a root that was no more than 18 inches in length but had to run at least that long in depth.

Flush with victory, I turned to a nearby stump and declared war on it.

Another half hour of whacking and hacking produced modest effect. At this point, my neighbor Al wandered by with a bemused look on his face. "You're not going to get it that way," he said. "Let me get my pick."

A pick. Isn't that something you use on a guitar?

Well, not exactly. Al swung his pick a few times with limited success. "Let me get my chainsaw," he said. "That'll do it."

Lynne looked up with some concern. I have always wanted a chainsaw. Lynne, however, has always thought this was a bad idea ... perhaps on the ground that I might accidentally lop a limb or leg off in the process. As she would prefer this not to be the case (whether it be mine or somebody else's), it has always been agreed the only type of chainsaw I can use is a toy one I was given by Lynne and her sisters as a Christmas gift a few years back.

Al returned with the chainsaw and I stepped back as far as I dared. Five minutes into this exercise, the stump stayed put. "My blade isn't very good," Al sighed. "I think my brother has been using this thing again."

But we had come a long ways and I wasn't ready to give in. I stared at the stump and got an idea. Using the pick (now that I knew how to do so), I angled underneath one of the connecting roots. The wood finally begin to slowly splinter. But the stump remained. I grabbed an old (non-chain) saw and chipped away at more wood. After a couple of minutes, I heard a crack and knew victory was really at hand. A twist here and there and the thick stump finally left the ground. "I think that thing has been there for about 20 years," Al sighed. "Nice sight, isn't it?"

Lynne, who had decided this was a good time to move her base of operations on the other side of the fence, sighed with satisfaction. Two nasty stumps gone and no limbs, digits or legs lost in the process.

For years, I have heard athletes say the beer always tastes better after their team wins a game.

I know what they mean. The Labatt's tasted damn good.

Two down and another 50 or so to go. I'm in no hurry to go back. But I am encouraged that total victory is possible.