I don’t consider myself a gardener, however, nature forced my action.
If you saw last week’s photo, you know the roses are in bloom.
Winter forgot us this year. Warm, wet, windy weather mixed with spectacular sun breaks brought another visitor to our yard. Herb Robert. Like the Roman armies of old, Geranium Robertianum marched across our yard.
An ocean of lacy green leaves with small pink flowers covered the forest floor. Conquered by shooting seeds 15 to 20 feet beyond its root base. An expeditious enemy—with an unseen weapon.
We wanted our woodland yard back.
On my hands and knees in the warm sunshine, digging up roots, the weapon not released until I tugged the plant from the ground.
A distinct, pungent, peppery, oily odor waft through the air with the power of a startled skunk. An effective weapon against the faint of heart. “Stinky Bob” cracked the Kraken.
After 30 minutes power weeding, sweating, burning tears, and sneezing forced a break. But I will not be broken.
If you’ve ever crossed the border into Canada, the Customs Agents among their many questions generally ask you these three:
Where are you coming from?
How long have you been there?
Where are you going to?
This is where I came from: One-third acre of vegetal vengeance.
I’ve been there for four weeks and counting.
This is where I’m going . . . a yard free of “Stinky Bob”.
I’m sure the yard waste haulers love collection day at our house—a Hockey player’s gym bag smells better.
May your weekend battle be won with determination. May your coaxing be tempered with sunscreen. May it smell of roses or barbecue or pizza. May you wake-up Monday morning celebrating a victory without too many battle scars.
And whatever you do, avoid the stinky stuff. The nose you save may be your own.
Now where did I put the Benedryl . . . .