No patience for aphids, mildew, weeds. That almost sums up my feelings in the garden these days. They’ve all GOT TO GO!! Now. Not in five minutes – now.
Until today, I had a couple of different varieties of miniature roses. One of which didn’t seem to have any level of resistance to mildew or aphids. At one point a week or two ago, I made an effort to move all ladybugs found in the garden over to the offending plant. Aren’t ladybugs supposed to devour whole families of aphids in their entirety? The ones I relocated didn’t seem to like the veritable buffet in front of them – they just flew away. After a couple of unsuccessful ladybug relocation sessions and a treatment or two of soapy water and removal of the most badly affected branches and leaves, a decision needed to be made. Should the offending miniature roses be removed or should I plan another method of attack? Didn’t take long to make a decision and take action. In no time I had lopped off the top 90% of the bush. If it lived, great. If not, too bad – I don’t want plants that attract disease and pests anyway. I will happily accommodate ornamental plants and vegetables that thrive in my garden and I have no particular desire to coddle sensitive garden divas.
So, after lopping off most of the mini rose, I held it up high, torch-like, taking it to the garden waste recycle bin. Truly, there was a small sense of victory. Death to aphids! Take that mildew! Ha! What offending plant was next?
Aaah. Buttercups. I despise buttercups. Foamy pink kneeling pad in hand I began my crawl across the lawn, hunting for and removing buttercups. Not that it took much time to hunt down my prey. At a quick glance, the lawn didn’t look too bad, but upon closer inspection the dark green patches with tentacle-like arms reaching out to strangle the weak and pathetic excuse for grass betray lurking buttercup colonies. A quick jab, twist and pull. One down, 1,893 to go.
I have the good fortune to have a son who is relentless in his desire to keep his little wheelbarrow full. He’s constantly appearing at my side looking for another load of weeds to take to the bin. It certainly speeds things along, as I don’t have to take a break to walk the bucket over to the bin myself. We make quite a team: I crawl along the ground attacking weeds while he visits every few minutes with his trusty turtle wheelbarrow.
In the back garden I don’t mind looking a little I’m on the edge of sanity, but in the front yard I do try to look a little more respectable. My kit will be a little more organized and I won’t be caught wearing green socks, blue yoga pants and a shocking pink t-shirt. Not all at the same time at least. I’m sure the neighbours already think I’m a little on the loony side, I don’t need to give them proof.