Wednesday's Word: Lily

Garden colors

I won't be posting or commenting much this week, so I'm scheduling a few garden shots. Cheers!

Surf's Up for August

The Men of York (Maine) and their spicy calendar (raising money for charity) are back for another month. Sam Douglass and Ben Goodwin are the August pinups.

Would you post nekkid for a charity calendar? (I have it on good authority that Indigo would pose and recruit others for a "Men of Blogging" calendar.)

Wednesday's Word: Kudzu

Kudzu-covered house and trees

The first time I heard about kudzu, "the weed that ate the South," I was--what?--horrified... grossed out... frightened, even. I mean, it looks downright spooky when it covers entire landscapes including houses and trees.

I have met my kudzu.

Out behind our garage is our sunniest garden spot. Currently, it's planted with catmint, a few coneflowers, and liatris. Only you wouldn't know about the liatris, because it's been smothered by a nasty little vine that has wound around the stalks and heads of the liatris, binding them together before forcing them down with its weight. 

Liatris covered in vines

I recognize this vine. It was a tiny thing, just barely making an appearance over the last few years. I didn't bother pulling it because it seemed harmless. Now it has not only taken over a big swath of garden, it has gone to seed! This hummer will be sprouting up everywhere, including all up and down the alley, where most of the neighbors also have plantings. How could this happen, I asked myself. The answer is simple. I've been enjoying the garden outside my office window, and tending to its needs. Haven't been behind the garage for weeks. Barely even glance in that direction when I'm driving in or out of the garage.

We often paraphrase the quote, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."* Also, apparently, the price of freedom from kudzu.

Healthy liatris

*This quote is variously attributed to Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, and abolitionist Wendell Phillips; it apparently originated in a speech by John P. Curran in Dublin in 1790.