An English In Kentucky


















September 17th 2010    Tim Candler

    Next few days are forecast, and there is a dry spell in store for us with temperatures high in the eighties.  Beautiful for those unafraid of blue sky, and useful for those with fields to harvest.   Here where I live I could water the Pear trees with sneezes.

     There is Golden Rod in glorious color, and I am fairly convinced there is Ragweed.  But from one year to the next I have difficulty recognizing Ragweed, because once I carefully transplanted what I thought was stand of something clearly vigorous and happy into the corner of someone's perennial border.  Ever since I appear to have stuck to my principles.

   It was not an easy thing to explain to the home owner.  And this especially after hearing my digression on the importance of encouraging native plants, even if their bloom lacked the buoyancy and bounce of those frail hybrids, which at the first sign of stress curl up, whither and find their way to compost.

    And I have done the same thing with Golden Rod.  He was an older man, reduced by retirement to a more rural dwelling and blissfully ignorant of horticulture.  He loved the plant, saw its yellow bloom in the sunny corner.   Felt it would impress his neighbors.

   We both were sneezing of course.  Neither of us knew why. 

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