>> Monday, May 30, 2011
My husband hates our bridal wreath spirea bushes. I mean, he absolutely loathes them. I think it's mostly because they're high maintenance - they grow so damn fast that they always look unruly, and we spends many hours of our summers pruning. They're also prone to disgusting aphid infestations, such that the plants completely disappear under writhing sheets and piles of aphids. Most years, they are the only parts of our garden that we don't manage to keep organic, just because I haven't found any organic product that will work on those kinds of quantities of aphids.
But, I mean, really. How can anyone hate these? Look at the glorious things!! They do this every year, but what with all the rain and now three years of careful tending, they have been exceptionally decadent this spring.
And, if you recall, a few short weeks ago I vowed to yank out our rhododendron this year, as soon as it's done blooming. It's been sitting there looking pathetic for three years, and all my efforts at protecting it from winter harshness and feeding it have amounted to nothing. It hadn't grown, and gave us only a couple of scraggly blossoms each year. Worse, it's got these pale green and yellow leaves that make it look sickly, no matter what I do.
Apparently, it heard my threats. Out of nowhere, it suddenly did this:
Well, crap. Now I can't just pull it out without feeling very guilty. It's trying, for once. Shall I keep it for all 12 months of the year, yellowy and scraggly as it gets, just for the one week each spring that it is capable of doing that? Oh, heck. Probably. I hate killing things, even plants. I'd be riddled with guilt.
And I had such plans for what I was going to do with that space, too.