Kicking Grass

I'm prepared to admit that the weedy seedlings of junk trees that now stand watch over this flower bed are even less attractive than it was with all that liriope, but I frelling hate that stuff with all my might. I really and truly do. The saplings will come out and that will be another story. The only time I'd ever recommend liriope is if you have a place that is so butt-ugly and undesireable that no one will ever want to garden there in future. Or, if you really hate a future homeowner, plant a big mess of this hideousness and they'll think of you later aplenty. This was probably planted more than a decade ago and was a dense network of filament like roots that formed a mat on top of and into the soil. To top that off, the roots have little tater-like nuts on them (corms? bulbs?) which, if the plant is simply broken off from a superficial level, will grow an entirely new eruption of the very scourge one was attempting to eradicate.

I started the tedium of removing the liriope from the flowerbed on the North side of the porch early this morning, and I just completed the task. I can feel how miserable my hands will be tomorrow. I feel bent over like an old crone, and I feel as if I did about a million situps-- a task for which I am clearly not meant. The only respite I've had from this hard-day's slog in the garden was the occasional interruptions of the "Oh, Shit!" phone from work. I've been on call so the 9 or so hours when I started this morning have had enough interruptions to give me a break from the task.

I'll be happy when I have something pretty to replace this to show in its stead. For now, the bare earth is glorious enough.