WIP

 Okay, I bought in. It doesn't turn miracles, but once in a while some dreaded species of thistle comes victim (mostly) to its considerable incisors. I'm not sure it's any more valuable than our already existing weaponry, but when it pulls out a root at least you don't have to bend over (for the ten-thousandth time) to get the evil out. For the record, it's not just Grandpa's.

When we bought out in the northernmost suburbs of Alton, Iowa, the lot we bought was an acre, an entire acre. We've got no pony, no sheep, no Holsteins, and riding Toro, so it's up to me to keep the mess under control, no thanks to Eve and that lousy snake.

Everyday I'm out there now, tending the garden (sounds so scriptural). I have trouble remembering what I did with my time before warmth crept slowly and breezily back into the region. The ground squirrels lunched on my muskmelon plants. The newest batch is now sealed up behind two walls of defense. Once those plants get to adolescence, I'll let 'em go.

Yesterday--and the day before--I pulled a ton of wild parsnips out, carefully, I might add after the book claimed it to be nearly lethal: "Wild parsnip sap contains chemicals called furanocoumarins which can make skin more vulnerable to ultraviolet radiation. Brushing against or breaking the plant releases sap that, combined with sunlight, can cause a severe burn within 24 to 48 hours." Sheesh.

This morning, most of are out, but you can bet they'll be back. Neither my sidekick or I can figure out where on earth it came from. Last year it wasn't there; this year there's half an acre (that's hyperbole). Just like the forces of yet another foreigner--some kind of Japanese grass the book claimed just awful. "Go cut it out," the book said, or words to that effect.

If you look close right now, it's a horror out back. But if you don't, it's beautiful. The cone flowers will be wonderful in a week or two, but any prairie fool can grow coneflowers. The columbine on the east side are perfectly beautiful right now, but no one sees 'em so here they are--some anyway.




If I look down on what appears to be an emerald sea behind the house, it looks great. Three inches of rain one night did wonders. Right now, just about everybody out back and in the flower garden, the plants who get charity from the owners once in a while, is baited-breath waiting for more.

Still, it's gorgeous. This morning, just before dawn, I saw a white flash move along the Floyd River, a white-tail, running along full-tilt. It's a garden out there. Almost enough to make me forget about Adam and Eve. Mostly, from a distance, I saw the garden.

It's a works-in-progress. This afternoon I'll be out there somewhere again because what's out there is a works-in-progress, as are we.