Stymied by wily weeds
The grass outside the front door has gone khaki brown. The gladiola bulbs I planted in April are now tall blades with no signs of flowers to come. The basil plant in the pot on the patio? It’s so thirsty I can hardly keep it green.
Eleven days without significant rain will turn things crunchy, as they are up here on Mt. Crumpit. And the problem isn’t just outside. The orchid, which I kept alive for seven months by feeding it ice cubes a few times a week, finally dropped its flowers. It has been in the same spot on the dining room table, getting sun through the window, from the day my friend brought it to me. Is it a coincidence, or is the parched outside seeping inside too?
And yet, while the plants I am encouraging are struggling, the ones I would rather not have are thriving. On my morning walk, I see weeds poking through the cracks in the sidewalk. The hillside at the end of the block is heavy with Queen Ann’s Lace, or maybe those are those poisonous plants that look like the lace.
At the back of my house is a long fence, shared with the other condos on the block. On the other side of the fence is a vast, green valley. There must be farmland down there, because every morning a rooster crow comes rolling up the hillside. On clear days, I can see the Pittsburgh skyline at the far end of the valley. It’s one of the things that got me to buy this place a year ago.
But the weeds.
Just on the other side of the fence grow huge, leafy bushes. At first I thought some were honeysuckle, but that’s not it. Whatever they are, they are tall and wily and they’re blocking my view.
I’ll cut them, I thought, as I approached with long hedge clippers. I would need clippers twice as long and arms thrice as long to reach them. They grow from the land right at the top of the valley, on a slope so steep I wouldn’t be able to safely stand there to do the trimming.
The landscapers who take care of this place don’t climb over there, either, because to do so would require ropes and rappelling gear. Some weed killer at the base of the weeds might get things started, but who wants that poison blowing in their direction?
It would have been nice if the drought had arrested the growth of those weeds, but that’s not the way things go in this universe. While those bushes add inches of height through desiccated ground, just a few feet away my carefully planted tomatoes and basil – and my grass – are begging for help.
I water most mornings, fill and refill the big watering can and visit all my planted friends around the house. I do it in the early morning, as the green thumbs will recommend. The grass looked so sad I thought about watering it with the watering can, too. I counted a single yellow flower on one of the potted tomato plants, so maybe there are home-grown grape and cherry tomatoes in my future.
Yesterday, while trying to see the skyline around the tall weeds, I noticed some little pink flowers poking out from the bottom of the fence, some kind of clover blossoms on leggy stems. I gathered a big bunch of them and put them in a vase on the kitchen counter. They are my volunteer posies, perhaps a peace offering from the weeds, and a reminder some things will thrive, no matter what.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.