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| A honeybee pollinating a poppy bloom in my perennial island |
Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Matthew 7:7
Now, I’d already determined to remove
this large, invasive lily from my gardens this spring. Entirely. Like its
cousin, Lily of the Valley, Solomon shows no respect for neighbors. Leave one
root in the soil and up pops a shoot to the pull of the sun.
Yet, there I stood, a veil lifted
from my eyes to see the bliss in the beautiful flight of the miniature
pollinator.
So I rethought my extermination
of the Polygonatum. However, upon a
closer look of the flower bed, Solomon’s roots infringed upon a Bleeding Heart.
I’m most protective of her dangling, pink gems which hummingbirds also pollinate. Furthermore, Bleeding
Hearts mind their borders.
I swiftly resolved to no longer give garden space to
wandering species. Take Mother Nature’s volunteers, for instance.
She may’ve meant well, but Creeping Bellflower appeared
by the front faucet several springs ago, and unbeknownst to me waged underground
warfare with deep, tuberous roots.
Suffering battle fatigue the end of April, I consulted
two garden experts. “That’s probably Campuanula
rapunculoides, the bad purple Bellflower. It’s everywhere,” one botanist
said.
“You have two options,” both authorities agreed. “You
can apply an herbicide to the leaves, or remove the roots with a shovel and a four-tined
iron fork.”
I’ve never used herbicides and would rather not.
However, those two basic tools are my right and left hand, which meant much
labor throughout the spring and summer.
“Eventually, you’ll remove enough roots to control invasive
growth. Use newspaper under your mulch to prevent the sun from sprouting shoots,”
my advisors said.
After paying three weeders $350 for three hours to begin the Bellflower and lily evacuation,
I counted the unaffordable, continuous cost.
Thus, I carried my shovel and fork into my perennial
island, opened the earth, and rescued a blooming Oriental poppy from clumps of
Lily of the Valley.
Meanwhile, honeybees flew in and buzzed through the
long, quivering purple-black stamens surrounding the poppy’s ovary. With some
effort launching, the honeybees flew away with black pollen sacks on their back
legs.
And with some effort, I added two large garbage cans of
lily and Creeping Bellflower roots to a burn pile. Then I settled on my
bee-watching chair. There I observed worker bees descend upon the hive’s bottom
board, many sporting orange, gold, and black socks on their legs.
Dear Reader, this bliss, a portion of my terrestrial
and spiritual endowment, began thirty-four years ago when I asked God to lead
us to a home where my husband and I could grow old together.
And He did.
Little did I know, come springtime, I’d find
pollinators and flowers my steadfast companions.
