The fattest squirrel in the neighborhood hanging precariously from a honey frame, madly chewing through the comb, signaled the start to a weekend fighting recurring crimes against the garden community.
Exhibit A: Grass. Despite my best efforts, the quackgrass has continued its westward march from the flower beds into spots where lettuce, chard, squash and spinach should grow. Manifest destiny be damned, I thought, as I followed chain gangs of roots and crowns marching from one bed to the next.
Exhibit B: Elm trees (weeds, technically). A pair of them has been trying to push down Anne’s shed. The shed fought back with the might of its metal roof, but the plants were prevailing. The drop-in husband agreed to fire up the chainsaw while I used a rope to keep the trees from landing on something valuable, like me. Or him. Or Anne. As I pulled the fat stems down past the power wire, I realized we three were standing in a shower of pale green elm seeds.
Like that fat squirrel that would not give up and the quackgrass that I’m sure is strategizing for a new attack on the lettuce bed, those seeds are ready to root down again.
The battle for the shed and the potager may be over, but the war in the garden has only just begun.
Dana Coffield, The Denver Post
