My neighbors have assured me that the front-most patch of our property has always been more of a wildflower, flee-flowing space than a carefully manicured Italian garden. However, the weeds seem to knew an amateur is at the helm this year, and have seized the opportunity to assert their authority, turning casual and free-flowing space into mini jungle scene. There have been no negotiations – war has been declared.
Part of the issue is that I have been loathe to tear out plants I couldn't readily identify because perhaps they were "something" and I'd regret it later. I took to emailing my mom photos and engaging her in a lively flashcard round of "Weed or Not Weed?" A passing neighbor with two small-but-determined dogs helped me out further this morning, identifying a few more culprits, and tossing out this piece of wisdom as her yapping friends dragged her away: "By definition, a weed is any plant which is where you don't want it to be." Nothing I love like a new mantra, and this one is it.
So I am now pulling with extreme prejudice. I am determined to turn the whole blessed thing into a mass of daylilies and call it a landscape. Wish me luck. All's fair in love, war, and weeding.
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