Garden Variety Wonder

Foolishly, I had volunteered to edit the Garden Society’s newsletter, and the chair of the board of directors of this august organization was coming over to inspect our garden.

The stern looking old broad - EXCUSE ME! - charming matron arrived promptly at the appointed hour.

“Good morning, ma’am!” I said. “Welcome to our garden! I cut you some fresh flowers to celebrate the occasion.”

“Thank you Mr. Crawford. Those are dandelions, not flowers,” the old battle-axe said. “May we begin our tour please?”

“Dandelions?! The kids and I thought they were flowers. Rats! I’ve been fertilizing and, uh, weeding them all spring.”

“No, Mr. Crawford, they are not flowers, and please stop holding them under my chin.”

“You like butter! Never mind. OK, here is our yard. In front here we’ve got Hostages, Doozies and this is Dogbone.”

“Hostas, Daisies and Dogwood, Mr. Crawford. I’m not entirely sure your garden knowledge will be sufficient to edit our journal. By the way - what’s that on your chest?”

“Oh! Ha! Ha! That’s a Venus Fly Trap stuck to my nipple. The kids and I were fooling around, and boy, that stuff sure is sticky!” I said.

“I see. Tell me about this brown patch.”

“Oh that? Well, I was squirting weed-killer along the edges here when this wind gust came up and, well... That stuff sure works doesn’t it?” I said, cheerfully.

“Now take a look at these low-growing flowers,” I said. “They have a uniform stem and a rather bizarre flower structure. Quite colourful though.”

“Those are Nerf gun darts that your son has obviously stuck in the ground, Mr. Crawford.”

“How do you know they are not some sort of flowering mushroom?” I asked.

“I have grandchildren, Mr. Crawford. Any idiot knows that N100 darts are not compatible with the N400 gun lying over there, so your son has obviously done something creative in the garden while waiting for his Dad to buy the correct ammunition.”

“Well, OK then. Sheesh. Now over here we have the Happy Patch.”

“Oh dear.”

“We planted a bunch of those little packets from the garden store on that dirt pile over there. We love the result. See where the carrots are, right next to the pansies and onions and weeds and lilacs? Yeah. So that kinda worked but we might try something different next year.”

Mrs. Outhouse or whatever her name was went over to the pile and closely examined one of the growing things.

“I can’t believe it. This is a Blue Rose! Mr. Crawford, are you aware that scientists have been trying to create a blue rose for centuries, and you’ve got several growing on your dirt pile here?”

“Oh yeah, we have lots of them. There’s more by the cucumbers in the flowerbed over yonder. They’re a real pain. They take over everything in the garden. I might get the weed-killer on them if they keep growing like that,” I said.

“No! Mr. Crawford this is a triumph! You have grown something the world has desired for millennia! You are going to be a very famous man when the world hears about this! I am in awe, sir!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever… So, does editing the newsletter pay anything? The kids and I could use some more seeds…”