DEATH IN THE GARDEN

It's happened again, the WEEDWHACKER has done it's dastardly deed! Over the years I've lost countless precious plants to it's whirling plastic string.

This weekend it was the line of lilies planted and lovingly cared for along the back fence. Those lilies were the old fashioned kind, they grew to be about 36 inches tall with wild and lovely orange blooms. They were supposed to spread until they cover huge patches of my flower garden along the fence. I'd searched for months before finding that particular lily. Seems like just yesterday I was admiring them!

It couldn't have been yesterday, however, because Sat. they met their maker via the WEEDWHACKER!!!

I'm still grieving over the "pencil gourd" plants that were unmercifully struck down in their prime years ago. That was a case of ordering special seeds, planting and guarding the spindly little plants, waiting, waiting for those very artistic shaped decorative squash to appear.

I remember the day. It was an early Saturday morning when I heard the WEEDWHACKER fire up but I procrastinated a few minutes too long before I ran out to the garden, my nightgown flapping in the breeze. My plan was to physically stand before my tiny plants, arms outstretched shouting, NO, NO, NO at the top of my lungs in order to be heard over the roar of the motor. It was too late! They were gone, the ground was bare. It was as if they'd never existed.

There is something absolutely mesmerizing about electric ANYTHINGS in the hands of the male of our species. I believe it has everything to do with the Va-Room sound. Think about it, there's the chain saw, the electric drill, the router, the hedge trimmer, the power washer, the air thingy, cars of all shapes and models, the WEEDWHACKER and of course the "Binford 2000" (our name for the riding lawn mower that's bigger than our lawn!)

When the motor fires up, the brain molecules shut down. Any and everything in the path of a man with a motor in his hand is at risk.

I truly believe little boys are observed in the hospital nursery with their red little fingers pointing to the sky while testing their new-found voices. In their baby cry, if you listen closely you'll hear "va-room, va-room." Stats prove that this phenomenon is NOT present in baby girls.

What's his defense, when Honeybuns is confronted with plant murder, you ask??

He shrugs his shoulders, looks me straight in the eye and calmly replies, "it'll grow back."

I'm wondering if he would be so calm if I happen to accidentally whack off a couple of his body parts. I could defend myself, "it'll grow back."