It isn’t always pleasant, talking to my plants. Mostly, I compliment them when they flower or fruit, or even when their leaves colour or they put out new green shoots. Sometimes, though, there are plants behaving badly and these are the ones that receive my harshest words.
I’m talking about weeds of course; those unwanted plants that grow in places they’re not welcome. Some many have made themselves at home and thrived. As I rip them out of the ground, I mutter about unwanted visitors and fling them into the green waste bin.
Clover is everywhere.
Just as I finish weeding one area, I turn around and see another section to be done, and another. Some of the plants are like triffids and that’s my fault for letting them grow so big. It feels especially good to dig these ones, taking care to get all their roots and seeds.
I do feel a little sorry for the weeds, though. They are just members of the plant kingdom, wanting to reproduce so they don’t become extinct. It’s hardly their fault I don’t want them.
I suppose.