Beware of Weeds Bearing Gifts

alternanthera-pungens

It was such a lovely little ground-hugging plant. I first noticed it growing in the paths between the beds. And, along with its loveliness, it was driving out the Bermuda grass. So, not only did I allow it to grow, but I encouraged it. It was soft, pleasant to walk on and kneel on to work the beds…a gift!

It spread readily throughout the garden that first year. Then, late in the season I went out to do a little weeding and knelt down upon this lovely little plant and…PAIN! It had developed thousands of tiny little stickers that stuck to me, my shoes, my clothes, knees and hands. I had been fooled! The pretty, little seemingly harmless plant was none other than Alternanthera pungens or Creeping Chaffweed aka Khaki Burr Weed! Apparently a problem throughout the known world but unknown at Charamon until the last couple of years.

So here is the lesson, never trust a weed! It may be pretty, it may have a lovely little flower, it may hold the promise of being beneficial. But then, when you least expect it, it will turn on you to become another enemy of the estate.

It is so pervasive now that I’ll probably never be fully rid of it. About the best that can be said is that, along with Nutsedge and Bermuda, it makes pretty good biochar.

Sad Saga of the Squirrel

Warning! What you are about to read is not meant for small children or adults with weak stomachs.

I collect rainwater. My method is very low-tech…I simply place two 55 gallon drums under the eaves and let the water from our infrequent rains drip off the eaves into the drums. When it comes time to harvest the water, I put a length of hose in the drum and siphon off enough to fill a couple of watering cans. When the level gets below siphon level, I lower a pump into the drum. I have cut holes in the top to accommodate the pump (see pictures).

Collection Drums

After several years of collecting rainwater this way, I learned yesterday (I should have known already) that those holes can also accommodate unwanted guests. We have had a long

Squirrel-sized hole

dry-spell here and, apparently, a parched squirrel decided to slake his thirst from one of the barrels. He got in, but couldn’t get out.

Now I am not a lover of squirrels. Yes, they are cute, but they are also destructive little *%$# beasts. They eat my fruit off my peach, pear and plum trees. They plant pecans in my garden beds (one year I had to uproot 75 seedlings!). They are rodents…yes, “tree rats.” I have threatened to shoot or trap them but never drown them. So, I hate that he had to die in this inhumane way. In a way, however, he got his revenge.

As I began to siphon water from the barrel, I noticed a stench. I didn’t pay too much attention to it until I saw a slick on the water and something floating in the barrel. Oh no, I thought. Something has died in there! and that was indeed the case. I had already filled two water cans and gotten my hands into the mess. I tipped the drum over and, sure enough, out floated Mr. Squirrel, dead and in a disgusting stage of decomposition.

Well, I spent the next twenty minutes in various stages of barfdom. If squirrels have ghosts, it was rolling on the ground with laughter. I approached the back door with my hands in the air like a surgeon getting ready to scrub up and called for the Mrs. to open the door. She let me in, a puzzled expression on her face, and in sign-language, I signaled her to turn on the taps and to squirt a bit of antiseptic soap into my hands. I was finally able to quit gagging enough to tell her what happened. I washed thoroughly and fixed a cup of tea (very therapeutic).

The next step was to deal with corpus squirrelus. So with shovel in hand, I bravely scooped up the remains and resumed gagging. I walked to the garden area, carefully averting my eyes from the contents of the shovel. And, not wanting to lose any organic benefits he might impart to the soil, I buried him in the blackberry bed.

I think I’ve learned my lesson. So, the next step is to cover the tops of the drums with screening that will let the water in but not unwanted visitors, who, like fish – quickly begin to stink.

Later that evening, I told Number One about the ordeal. He is genetically very similar to me and, right on cue, he began gagging in sympathy.

Ordinarily I would end this blog by admonishing you to eat your veggies but somehow that seems inappropriate at this time. So, I will just say: take a lesson from me and keep the critters out of your drums because soggy squirrels set off squeamish syndromes and rotting rodents reduce you to retching responses. Nobody wants that.