Yesterday I went out to weed and found some uninvited pests hanging around the edge of the garden:
This is just a close up shot; eight mushrooms in all had sprouted up (bad weather has kept me from my routine weeding rounds.) Two had already grown to the size of cake plates.
I hate mushrooms. They're repulsive, invasive and worthless, and still they sprout up wherever and whenever they please. Like they own my garden. Every time we weather a bad storm, we get hit with plagues of them. The only thing uglier than how they look is the way they smell.
They're dangerous, too. I never know how poisonous they might be, and I worry about the one airheaded member of this household who refuses to stay away from them:
Picking mushrooms also disgusts me. Even with weeding gloves on, I hate to touch them. You know the slimy way they feel, and the creepy sounds they make when you pull them out of the dirt? That's my definition of gross. I'm not the girly, squeamish type, either, but I'd rather handle ten snakes instead.
But to let them squat in my garden? That would be worse.
Anyway, after I trashed the unwelcome parasites, I went to inspect an ailing rose bush. It's one that I've been trying to keep alive for years, and it is the most stubborn, cranky, depressed, suicidal plant I've ever had to deal with. Every time I prune it, I'm convinced I'm going to do it in for good. Plus it hardly ever blooms, and when it does I get maybe one or two flowers from it.
But oh, when it does:
The pink and apricot flowers it produces are like those wonderful old Victorian roses. They don't last long, only two or three days, but their scent is so powerful that one rose perfumes an entire room.
It doesn't seem fair that my rose bush will never grow as fast or thrive the way those idiot mushrooms do. One day I'll walk out and probably find the mushrooms clustered and feeding on the dead rose bush. Still, I'm not ready to give up the fight. I know what that bad-tempered bush can produce, and that makes it worth my nurturing. Just as all the mushrooms will ever get out of me is a fast trip to the trash bin.
That's it from my corner of the publishing garden this week. You all have any questions for me?