Yesterday I spent most of the day running errands with my Mom. We did the typical things like go to lunch, the bank, the grocery, and shop around. It was a pretty typical Saturday. The one thing that differed was we also went to our local plant and garden shops. Ever since I bought this house I've been pretty focused on my yard and garden. In the middle of January I couldn't wait to buy hanging baskets in anticipation for May. However, life is not all a bunch of roses especially if you have weeds.
I have spent countless hours feeling pretty stupid searching internet sites trying to identify my own species o' weeds (prolific little suckers). I finally broke down and pulled one of the thousands out of my flower beds and took it to the "Master Gardener" yesterday. There were about 4 other women with samples of grass, roots, bulbs, and weeds in various ziploc containers waiting to see Dave as well. He is in his 60's and clearly Gregor Mendel is one of his heros. He put my flowering weed under the magnifying lamp and began to consult his countless books.
"It has purple blossoms." I said trying to be helpful.
Dave looked up at me and peered through his bifocals, "I know that."
Ooh kay. Sooorrry!
I began to think of other weeds I've battled last summer, "I also have something that looks like a lily pad."
"Yes, you don't want that either."
No kidding.
He went through the genus and species of each picture until he triumpantly opened the book and said, "Meet the weed." There it was. It looked harmless in the book, but he hadn't seen my yard. Poor daffodils were competing for the sun with this weed.
He then began to ask me how close the weeds were to my precious spring bulbs. I didn't know. I just explained that the weed was everywhere. He then used my Mom as a prop.
"You Mother is the bulb. Where is the weed in relation to your Mother?" He began to move the now flacid weed in various proximities to my 5' Portugese decent maternal figure.
"Uh, its just everywhere."
Dave sighed and then began to tell me what I need to do. "Go get a 20 oz coke bottle. Enjoy." He paused for the dramatic effect. "Then cut the bottom of it off, put the bottle over the weed and use this." He pulled some random poison off the shelf. "However,you will not be able to do this today. You need 5 days of sun to do this. We are expecting precipitation tonight."
In Utah in March that could mean anything from rain to inches of snow.
He then told me I needed to get a marker and put skull and crossbones on the bottle. No kidding.
Mom and I left feeling quite patronized. We did go to another local favorite garden shop to replace a plant she recently killed by accident. The poor thing was just hanging out of the garbage can when I got to her house that morning. It was not a very dignified death. Part of me wanted to go rescue it and nurse it back to health. It was at that realization that I knew my maternal instinct was in overdrive.
Mom could kill things, I can't keep their growth under control. Ah, the irony.
We wandered around the plants until we were overcome with a sweet fragrance. It stopped us dead in our tracks. A lemon tree. It was a good height, it smelled good, it was unlike anything we've had before, and it didn't need cross-pollenization. How cool would it be to be making chicken piccata and say, "Gee, I need a lemon. I'll just go to the entry hall."
We carefully loaded it into the Jetta and drove it home with the promise that if it looks like it isn't doing so well, Mom will find a new home with someone who can't kill it. AKA me.
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