Normally I think my self-awareness is pretty accurate. But every so often I’ll do something, or fail to do something, or
mention that I did something, and one of my best friends will give me this look
like, “I can’t believe—what? What is wrong with you? Who does that?”
And then I think, “Yikes.
Am I that crazy lady after all?”
Case in point:
I have these plants in my front yard that look like massive ferns. They have taken over the original landscaping
with a vengeance and have grown to near Seymour-esque proportions, to the point
that they block clear passage to the front door. I was away for much of the summer, so I didn’t
notice how bad the situation had gotten until a week after I returned home, when I
realized that the habit I’d developed of absently pushing the eager plant aside
like the swinging front gate of a leafy picket fence wasn’t normal and that
every day must be like a new episode of “Postman Pat and the Man-Eating Plant”
for my poor small-town mail carrier.
So I just cut the plants down, right?
Well…
Here’s the thing. I
learned *just* enough about invasive species in college to have developed the
general sense that the way they propagate is by aggressive regeneration in the
face of any challenge to their existence.
So in my head, this has translated to the following: the SECOND I
attempt to cut down even the smallest piece of this massive fern, I will experience
the organic equivalent of touching one of the treasures in Bellatrix Lestrange’s
vault: the plant will begin to reproduce uncontrollably and instead of one
inconvenient branch to push aside, I will have a jungle of rabid ferns in the
place of my slightly shabby but reasonably manicured little lawn.
This is obviously not ideal.
Nor, I doubt, is it realistic—at least to the degree of hyperbole that
exists in my imagination. However, as I
appear to have only retained the overexaggerated information about the dramatic
consequences of invasive species control without any of the useful facts about
appropriate means of combating these tendencies, I’m not sure where the fable
ends and reality begins.
As a stop-gap measure, one innovative friend suggested that
I simply tie the offending branches back until I could find a more suitable
solution. This struck me as the perfect
answer to my landscaping troubles, and I came up with a neat solution to what
to use as an article of restraint: I used the red plastic wrappers from the unwanted
town newspapers that are delivered weekly to my house to keep the branches in
line. So ingenious! Environmentally friendly too! And what it lacks in aesthetic value it more than
makes up for in its minimal requirements for hard physical labor during my precious
weekend hours!
So this “temporary” solution has been working fine for me
for about a month now, and although I don’t know about Postman Pat, I’m pretty
sure that I could have gone on blithely skirting the plant as it slowly
re-encroached upon the path despite its festive red plastic ties for the
forseeable future if it hadn’t been for another one of the aforementioned best
friends who, after having listened to my long-winded, descriptions of the potentially
apocalyptic consequences of taking actual steps to remove the ferns on several
occasions, finally lost her patience last night. Laden with bags, she swatted irritably at the
branch as it bobbed gently across the path and exclaimed,
“Hydra head or not, this thing has to go!”
So…anyone know of a green-thumbed Hercules near Stars
Hollow?