Wild Strawberries

I once asked a horticulturist what a weed was and he replied "a weed is a plant out of place." Like most Americans, we have a yard that we take care of (meaning spend money to fertilize, cut, trim and weed). The views of our yard after it is cut is a pleasure and a matter of pride.

The yard is large and rather than have a pool or significant plantings in it, we have chosen to keep it open and uninterrupted like the old "bowling green" of English landscapes. The openness of the back yard attracts large numbers of things like Deer and large things such as the hot air balloon that dropped in amidst loud "whooshing" for an emergency landing.

My aforementioned wife, Joan, keeps the places in our yard where mulch is spread, free of weeds by pulling them out, individually, one-by-one, roots and all. There is a lot of complaining during these weeding sessions, but I think she takes an odd pleasure in the annual battle with the crabgrass and thistles, the wild onions and clover, and secretly looks forward to the next campaign.

However, one weed has recently risen to the top of her list, causing Joan to be extra vigilant in the inspections of the yard -- wild strawberries. The name sounds innocent enough, but left alone, it will choke out Kentucky Bluegrass and Rye Grass, leaving brown patches where nothing can grow. So, there she is, tediously and tirelessly extracting each root of the latest batch she has found.

When in such close conflict as Joan and the Wild Strawberries are, combatants often develop a deep respect for each other and so it is in this case. Here are Joan's words describing her foe:

Tentacles, inching/creeping along under the cover of blades of grass, even their tiny, yellow flowers often going undetected. Always mindful of their awesome power to destroy entire sections of lawn. Then, ultimately, filled with such pride at the accomplishment, they display their bright, red fruit--glistening success beacons in a sea of green, announcing their conquest.

And then, she rips them out of mother earth, roots and all -- victory is hers.

As for me (drawing a lesson from the Wild Strawberries) , I just try to blend in -- no flashy display, no creeping tentacles, no beacons. And, so far it has worked for 43 years.

(And you thought that this was going to be an insightful critique of Ingmar Bergman's, 1957 film, "Wild Strawberries." Naaahhh!)