by Robin Moynihan

Created on: August 31, 2011   Last Updated: September 28, 2011

One Man’s Weeds

My decisions haven’t always produced desirable results; three stomach pumps, a head full of stitches, and a bottom full of cactus needles, all before the age of five, is proof enough of that. Somehow, I missed the growing-out-of-it stage and continue to struggle with less than perfect decisions right through adulthood. After purchasing my grandparent's home my decision making problems haunted me once again in my gardening endeavors.

It took a year to get settled in, but the next spring we finally got the yard work started.“Tom, since the front yard is so narrow, I would rather have all flowers…that way you wouldn’t have to bring the mower up the stairs.”

“That sounds nice,” my husband agreed, “and how about a patio on this side of the walk? I’ve got that pile of bricks down back without a home.”

“That would be great…then we could put a little wrought iron table and chairs here…and maybe one of those pump things,” Tom raised his eyebrows at me, “oh, you know…a water feature thing!” I said as I was picturing us with our morning coffee in a quaint, little English garden.

“My only request is for some Irish Bells, and some Coleus…you can put in whatever else you want...as long as I get those I'll be happy.”

“I want old fashioned perennials…some annuals are OK, but mostly perennials. I always feel like I’m wasting money when I buy annuals, but before we get carried away, let’s not even think about flowers until we get all these weeds taken care of!” I groaned.

I have always been on the frugal side, so while weeding I would carefully examine each unfamiliar plant in the hopes that it was a free gem that could be transplanted into my patio garden, or perhaps one that would produce edible fruit for one of the other gardens. I love berries and was thrilled at my first profitable find of wild blueberries growing on one of our three slopes. This find encouraged me to continue the slow process of gleaning while weeding. Then fortune struck again.

“Tom, look at all these berries. Do you know what kind they are?” I had my palm full of pretty purplish-black berries.

“No…look it up,” Tom suggested.

“I don’t want to, my hands are dirty…I’ll just try one and see if I can tell by the taste.”

“Robin…I wouldn’t…I’d

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>