The war against thistles

I don’t care that thistles are the national flower of Scotland. I don’t want to grow them in my garden. I will concede that it is possible to mistake the rosebed for some sort of year-round prickly plant convention, or if you are a Japanese beetle you might see it as an all-you-can-eat buffet, but I prefer to think of it as a GARDEN. So this morning I put on my gloves and pulled weeds in the bright sunshine, and also trimmed the dead brown blossoms off the roses.

I know I missed a few thistles and I think I spotted some more poison ivy when I was wheeling a barrow-full of refuse around to the back, but I had to stop when my gloves were so soaked I couldn’t stand them any more on my hands. It’s been rainy for a few days and the ground was very wet, and the roses were very wet, and the weeds were very wet. So, now my gloves are too.

At least the FRONT end of the garden looks mostly good:

(Yeah, we have crabgrass, too.)

Here is a link to a little piece of guitar music one of my former students played on his new classical guitar and posted on the internet. He says the microphone makes the guitar sound terrible, and that it isn’t his best playing, but I think it sounds good. Give a listen!

Venezuelan Waltz

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