Tuesday, June 11, 2019

Bloom Where You Are Planted...Unless You Are Bindweed

This weekend, I spent five hours pulling bindweed from my flowerbeds. Five. Freaking. HOURS.

Once I was done, I was sunburned (proper sunscreen application having gone horribly, horribly wrong, despite an actual attempt), sore, stiff, and spent. Thankfully, the Man-Cub pulled in just as I was finishing up; he took one look at the copius amount of weed scattered around the flowerbeds and immediately told me to go inside while he raked and bagged the bastards up.

I was seriously grateful.

And, sore. And stiff. And, spent.

A liberal dose of ibuprofen later, I ventured to the yard to cut peonies and to revel in the beauty of weed-free flowerbeds.

That feeling will last only as long as it takes the bindweed to stage its comeback. So...I probably have about five minutes left.

Have I mentioned I hate bindweed?

 Before the de-weeding...

After the de-weeding

Damn you to hell, bindweed.

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