PLEEEEEEZE don't eat my house!
Ever since the first moment I laid eyes on the orange trumpet vine, I knew that I had to have one for my own yard. I searched every garden store and examined my Burpee catalogs page by page in search of one for three years running... to no avail. Eventually I gave up, (these were my pre-googling days) and turned my attention to the more immediate concerns of managing the Lily Relocation Program while simultaneously recruiting soldiers for the War on Mulberries.
Then, roughly one year ago, I acquired the Powderhorn pad, ensconced so delightfully in a generation's worth of jungle.
No problem, I thought to myself, I'll just hack through all these weeds and re-landscape the place in a jiffy. It will become the crown jewel of 31st Avenue... people will come here on garden tours someday... they will bring digital cameras to capture the stunning colors and textures of a masterful landscape...
Yah, so anyway... I started hacking.
And I hacked some more.
And some more.
And still more.
And eventually I stopped, and I scratched my head for a second, and I thought:
WTF IS THIS SHIT????
The whole damn yard was overcome by this insanely invasive THING, this THING which grew back in about five minutes everywhere I hacked, yanked, or dug at it. It was insane. It gave me nightmares. It drove me to drink on those hot summer nights when I could practically hear the little devil growing into my foundation and over my bushes and into the trunk of my car...
And then, one day, as I doggedly battled against its latest assault on the arborvitae, I noticed a glint of color out of the corner of my eye. I thought it was trash, blown from the nearest busstop and wedged into the offensive bramble of the evil house-eater.
I looked closer, squinting.
No freaking wayyyyyyyyy... I thought to myself. I dropped my spade and walked over to inspect.
It was a goddamn orange trumpet flower, bobbing gracefully at the top of an enormous cluster of buds. What can I say? I was rendered absolutely speechless.
And the moral of the story is?
Careful what you wish for?
Nah, I'm thinking it's more like: watch out for that trumpet vine, it eats dogs, small children, and the occasional building.
Then, roughly one year ago, I acquired the Powderhorn pad, ensconced so delightfully in a generation's worth of jungle.
No problem, I thought to myself, I'll just hack through all these weeds and re-landscape the place in a jiffy. It will become the crown jewel of 31st Avenue... people will come here on garden tours someday... they will bring digital cameras to capture the stunning colors and textures of a masterful landscape...
Yah, so anyway... I started hacking.
And I hacked some more.
And some more.
And still more.
And eventually I stopped, and I scratched my head for a second, and I thought:
WTF IS THIS SHIT????
The whole damn yard was overcome by this insanely invasive THING, this THING which grew back in about five minutes everywhere I hacked, yanked, or dug at it. It was insane. It gave me nightmares. It drove me to drink on those hot summer nights when I could practically hear the little devil growing into my foundation and over my bushes and into the trunk of my car...
And then, one day, as I doggedly battled against its latest assault on the arborvitae, I noticed a glint of color out of the corner of my eye. I thought it was trash, blown from the nearest busstop and wedged into the offensive bramble of the evil house-eater.
I looked closer, squinting.
No freaking wayyyyyyyyy... I thought to myself. I dropped my spade and walked over to inspect.
It was a goddamn orange trumpet flower, bobbing gracefully at the top of an enormous cluster of buds. What can I say? I was rendered absolutely speechless.
And the moral of the story is?
Careful what you wish for?
Nah, I'm thinking it's more like: watch out for that trumpet vine, it eats dogs, small children, and the occasional building.
posted by Rantirator at 8:39 PM
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