As kids, we spent many summers bumping along the dirt roads in Dad’s pickup as he patrolled creeks and ditches — ever vigilant to any splash of yellow representing leafy spurge. He would screech to a halt and we'd trot to the back of the truck to pull out hoses so we could douse every offending patch with herbicide. These days, we are more prone to limping than trotting. But we're still spraying spurge, Tammy Swift says.
