I do not know if there are any surgeons among you, but if so, have you ever tried surgery with a weed eater. It is not a precision tool. Some weeks ago up in the backyard, I buried some bleeding hearts. To my astonishment, many of the roots I stuck into the ground are actually growing. A couple of them have flowers. Cute little red, heart shaped flowers. I have used caution while mowing and trimming the lawn. Unfortunately, because weed eaters are so indiscriminant and imprecise, some of those burgeoning plants will need a second start. Sort of like some flaming out talk radio hosts and neo conservative magazine editors.
Several years ago, I planted a persimmon tree from root stock. Suzie-Q’s all time favorite fruit. Two actually, well four if you count the first attempt. In spite of my efforts, one has survived. For several years, it has been little more that a twig with a few oversized leafs on it. I learned through several minutes of intense study, that this tree is supposed to produce fruit in its fifth year. I told Suzie-Q she better have a chat with it, because if there is no fruit come summer time it may not warrant keeping and I would put a dogwood in the hole. Even I can grow a dogwood. I saw her taking a look. Her back was to me and her hands were on her hips. I cannot say for certain whether or not she was giving it a talking to. Maybe it was one of those Spock Vulcan mind things. While wreaking havoc on the bleeding hearts and also trimming around the tree, I noticed it now covered with tiny little persimmons. So if the tree rodents that you may call squirrels and the allied antlered rodents are kind, by fall Suzie-Q should have persimmons. For which I will take all of the credit. Sort of like the politician whose policies destroy three jobs while expecting praise for the creation of one when truthfully it was God and the cycle of nature that did all of the work.
From a distance, I noticed my rose bush looked a little sickly following its grand start this spring. Like the stock market, but not quite as sick. A closer investigation revealed a spider mite invasion – unwanted visitors sucking the life right out of a beautiful plant. Another familiar thought entered my mind just now. As I was about to unleash chemical warfare and prune the rose down to a few inches above ground and begin anew, I made another discovery. Right in the center of the thorny rose bush was a tiny bird’s nest with four little eggs in it. It made me wonder if mama bird might have smuggled these vermin into the roses aboard her nest makings. Suzie-Q and I discussed it and decided we would give mama bird and the eggs a chance. I have inspected the nest daily. It does not look like mama has returned to the nest seeing as dying rose petals partially cover the eggs. A friend of mine who knows such things tells me they should hatch in a week to a week and a half if the mama bird tends to her job. So they have another week before they go into the compost along with the spider mites and rose bush remnants.
As the day’s work ended, it was time to fire up the grill and stare out across the fruited plain of my back yard. It was rather pleasant. Sipping a cool drink while the aroma of barbequed baby back ribs and smoked sausage swirled around my head. I may not make the best barbeque you have ever eaten, but it will rank right up near the top. I would give you the sauce recipe, but it is a closely held secret. It is so secret in fact, I never committed to memory all of the ingredients. That is just in case I am ever water-boarded. Suffice it to say that when it is being concocted nothing in the kitchen from the horse-radish mustard to the dish washing soap is safe. You can be assured that when all of these varied ingredients are stirred together with a single focus in mind the results are amazing. Sort of like that American melting pot we once knew.
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