It's that time of year again. The birds are singing, flowers are on the trees, tulips and daffodils are waving in the breeze and the lawn is turning green.
For some people, it's the season of renewal and hope. For others, it's the killing season, not of animals, not of people-- of plants.
It's also that time of year when every legitimate plant in my yard is quaking in their boots. They would run for their lives but they are frozen in fear, unable to move, caught in rigid terror. There are huge creatures bumbling around amongst them and not one of them is safe.
Unless of course, they are a weed. Weeds have nothing to fear from us.
Gardening used to be a hobby of mine. I had originally hired someone to make a design for my yard, but when gas lines and electric lines ended up being in incompatible places to the design, I chucked it; started from scratch, and designed my own.
I planted trees and shrubs, vines and perennials and patiently waited for it all to grow, mature and look stunning. And it did look beautiful. Until I found out I had lupus, and couldn't go outside any more.
Then it was up to the other members of the household to take care of the yard.
Then came death. Lots of it.
There are people in this house (who will remain nameless in order to protect the guilty) who do not like to weed, do not like yard work of any kind and wish we lived in the middle of a cement ocean.
Not only that, but the care and maintenance of plants seems to be some kind of mystic, incomprehensible science that only the select few have the ability to decipher. The survival of plants comes only from pure chance, a capricious whim of the earth gods.
The answer to this problem is to panic and pour something on everything. Preferably something that isn't compatible with any kind of life.
Are there weeds around the trees? Yes. Pour stuff on it. Look. More weeds around the trees. Pour more stuff on them. And more weeds and more stuff.
And when the trees aren't looking so good, pour stuff on them too.
'Why is the tree dead? We did everything we were supposed to do to this tree! We poured stuff on it's roots. We sprayed it with stuff. It should be thriving! What do you mean it absorbed the weed killer we poured on the weeds around it? We poured it on the weeds, not the tree! Only dumb trees would drink weed killer! We can't help it if our trees are completely unintelligent!'
And so another tree dies. Everything lovely dies.
In the meantime the weeds are still there, standing green, tall and proud, laughing at us. They chug up weed killer; lick their chops, and ask for more like a certain ethnicity drinking certain ethnic alcoholic beverages.
(Okay, so I've been told I have to be politically correct here. This is a family friendly site, remember? I say one little borderline thing about a specific group and I get nasty messages. I'll probably hear from the weeds -- Who are you to call plants 'weeds'? How do you know what determines a 'weed' and a 'plant'? Are you vegetable matter? No! All plants deserve life! You're nothing but a judgemental, *%#@&%*#, weedaphobe! Weedist!)
Only the hardy lives at this address. If you want to see what absolutely cannot be killed in our climate, take a tour of our yard. Take some clippings, you'll have plants that no amount of abuse, neglect and misguided TLC can kill!
And if they keep pouring chemicals on the ground everywhere, we may end up with mutant species yet unknown to science or man. Think of the bragging rights you'd have crowning your garden with some of that!
My design is gone. The subtlety is gone. Most of the plants are gone too. Forget colors, textures and size, I'm happy with anything that can survive the onslaught.
My yard still looks stunning. Not in the same way though, more in a can't-tear-my-eyes-away-horrified-fascination kind of way, wherein the viewer is stunned. Yes. Speechless.
