I'm staying busy, keeping my mind occupied. I've made 11 quarts of dill pickles and nine pints of bread and butter pickles. Next I will look to the making of chow-chow and probably the canning of a few tomatoes, but if you've read my blog previously, you'll know that the blogs have been sparse in recent weeks. No blogs, no cooking, no reading. Just a lot of sitting in the dugout.
The appearance of my flower beds has distressed me for quite a while now, so my plans are to clean and refurbish them. As soon as the heat dissipates, I'll go at it full force, but for now, the yard work is restricted to cooler morning hours. My first task is to dig up, stem, root, and branch, a patch of lemon balm that has reproduced itself until the planet earth is in danger of falling out of orbit because of the additional weight.
|Smyth County clay clod |
beside a root.
This morning when I had worked my way back under the cherry tree, I dug up the plant tag for the original lemon balm plants. This tag has been under that tree for nearly 20 years, another piece of proof that plastic never decomposes. It calls lemon balm a perennial, but I can tell you that it is not a perennial. It's a weed.
|I'm over half-way finished digging up the lemon balm.|
I once had some bee balm in this bed, a fragrant, minty plant with a red flower that attracts humming birds and butterflies. But it died out. The lemon balm probably killed it in its sleep.
When I dig up a root, I pull at it, tug on it, yank it up, bringing out the tentacles (with new sprouts on it, no less) with big bricks of dried clay attached to it. It's impossible to remove every cell of every root, and I know that even one molecule of lemon balm root left behind will no doubt spring to life with its fresh, lemon-mint fragrance. Not to worry. I have a jug of Roundup in the garage.