I am all sore. Yesterday I tried to get rid of a thorny shrub in my garden. The beast fought back.

Maybe to get even for the times, I cut it back to half its size, when I first started out to cultivate what little space there is in front of our terrace. But then again, I’ve paid for that with many a scratch on my hands, since. So the shrub just knew, it had to go and was in no way giving in without hurting me back.

My fingers are still swollen from digging underneath it with bare hands, pulling at and cutting through countless roots after the spade was no longer of any help. After four hours of backbreaking sweat, some blood and almost reduced to tears, I had to pack in and get my sweetheart for help. I had already dug a big crate around the thing but there was no way to get underneath its center roots, which propably go straight through the planet, steadfastening a huge palm tree somewhere in Tasmania, I am sure.

My sweetheart wasn’t able to get it out of the ground, either, so he had to take an axe to the rootstock, finally, hacking off, what I had managed to dig out. And in went the nice, blooming shrub I was presented with by my CEO last weekend.

My sweetheart is sure, the monster has seen its best and the remaining root will just rot away. Whereas I’d have much rather gotten rid of it entirely, as I am sure, this plant will find a way to get back at me for mutilating it in such a way, by sprouting all over again, come next spring. By which time, my bruises might have healed.

At least I remembered to take some pics of my summer flowers. Here we go.










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