About once a month (or so–depends), when it reaches the stage where vigorous brushing doesn’t result in a manageable mass of hair, The Beard begs to be trimmed back. (Yeh, I anthropomorphize the thing. You live with one on and off–but almost entirely on–for 40+ years and darned if you don’t, too. *heh*)
Below, just after stage one of trimming: bush hogging.
Note the “stragglies” (and the flat affect; this is after only one cuppa joe, so available facial expression is very limited). Stragglies require careful attention from barber shears. That’ll wait until after I am fully caffeinated.
BTW, this is as self-identifying as any photo of me anywhere available to the web gets, save for my DL, and it, at least, has some minor (very minor; almost non-existent) limitations on access. Other photos of me on the web (see my favicon for example) are less helpful to those seeking my face, not that anyone not suffering from some sort of traumatic brain damage wants to do so.