A Garden Tale

My wildflowers are certainly enjoying the cool embrace of our recent wet weather. The Lemon Bee Balm is coming up along with some Queen Annes Lace that was in one of the wildflower packets I sowed. Not many consider the Lace a wildflower. But there it is so I’ll take it. It bears a small resemblance in its flowers and leaves to hedge parsley, which I pull from my gardens when I can. We’ll see how the new visitor matures.

I’m also on the hunt for non-native thistles. They’re easy to spot. They’re tall, big and purple. Unfortunately, their windblown seeds can travel great distances, and despite my digging efforts they crop up in the yard and garden every year. Removal calls for stout leather gloves and a sharp turning fork. When I’m in a hurry, I’ll deadhead them until I can dig, but they want to flower and a replacement bloom shows up in short order. Diligence is the name of the game.

Luckily, nothing I’m digging bears even a passing resemblance to the battle I once waged with khaki weed. That was a five-year slog on my hands and knees. But I won, and now it’s not even a tale I tell my children because none of them really cared in the first place. It was just a case of something dad did to occupy his time while taking care of his ailing wife, who would have approved. And that was more than enough to keep me going until both jobs were done.