It happens at least once a year, right about this time of the year. And each time I feel so terribly beaten. Helpless. I harbor the certainty that the damage cannot be repaired. All hope fizzles out. I walk out of a flower bed with the drama of matted hair full of Virginia Stickseed (sometimes called Beggar's Lice).
Have you ever seen it? Here's a picture of this nasty weed:
It's bad enough when it sticks to your clothes (you have to disentangle each clinging seed -- it's a chore!). It's horrible if you get it into your hair.
[You'll ask -- how on earth did I manage that? And every year? Well, it's easy! You attack some weeds in a thick clump of tall spent flowers. In this case it was the Monarda. (The good gardener will not just pull on a weed. She'll bend down to get at the roots.) You didn't notice the Stickseed. You try to straighten up and lo, your hair is a matted mess. Dozens upon dozens of these monsters pulling together to form a jungle of hair that cannot be untangled. You try every remedy known to you, none of it works. You're ready to call the hair salon for an emergency appointment, wondering how you'll look with a buzz cut. But first, you go upstairs and wake Ed to share your misery with your beloved. He rubs his eyes, he spreads out a towel and a tissue on top of it and he gets to work. One by one, hair by hair, he patiently untangles the thick mess of hair and seed, removing each tiny clingy particle, putting it down on the tissue, going after the next, and the next, until half an hour later, you can actually run a brush through (what's left of) your hair again. And once more you thank your stars that you have an Ed in your life.]
I did manage to feed these bandits first.
And after the de-tangling and seed removal operation, we have another job to do -- a far more pleasant one, indeed a beautiful one -- we call Stoneman's farms, find out they have freshly picked corn, and so we are off! On our bikes, to Stoneman's. (The family also raises Scottish Highland cattle. If I were a beef eater, I'd be at the head of the line to buy their meat. Their herd, totalling 200, but spread out between three fields, looks stunningly fabulous and very happy!)
I have this dilemma: how many ears should we cart home? Should I freeze more kernels or should I merely buy for the next ten days and let it go for the year? It's likely our last haul. The kids love corn for their Sunday dinner at the farmhouse, but I've always found cobs to cook. Who knows where the winter corn comes from. Spain? Chile? The end of the world? I want to switch to our own frozen kernels. Kids are weird eaters. Will they accept the substitution? If so, I should freeze more. A lot more.
In the end we get two dozen. That's a lot of shucking and freezing, but after a season of Wisconsin corn, I have no stomach for the winter imports. It's our corn or rust!
(our chosen two dozen)
And now it's time for breakfast. We are having a two day warm-up. On the porch we go!
Reluctantly, I go back to weeding. I mean, the beds really need it. Occasionally I kick myself for letting the summer go by without greater garden care, but of course, there wasn't time for greater garden care. Lily work, travel, kids, watering during the drought -- they all took a chunk of time. I barely kept up with the basics.
So I weed.
And eventually the clock strikes an afternoon hour and I give it up and go and pick up the kids at school.
I tell them that Ed is on an important Zoom call in the other room so they have to keep the noise level down. Every few minutes, I hear a shout, or a drum roll, or a screech, always followed by the words -- oh, sorry! I forgot! Had I said nothing, I'm sure we would have had our usual quiet set of hours. These kids are not especially loud by nature!
(Finally, Ed's done with the call. Their gymnastics follow... I say -- that looks so scary, she says -- do it again!)
The family is car-less today, so toward evening, I pick up the whole pack of them and cart them home. I drive back late, but it's okay. Ed is out biking. I have a pot of chili to prepare. With corn, because right now, we are swimming in corn! (Such a nice image, don't you think?)
