Shared frustration

Well, we bumped into Al, our gardener, in the Pub. I duly ask what he had against my feverfew. He replies me what feverfew. He had removed a notifiable weed that is poisonous to horses. I couldn't help pointing out it was feverfew, that I had bought as a plant from Barton Grange garden centre. There was even a label, with a picture of the plant, in the soil at the base of the plant. He hadn't had his glasses on & anyhow the bed is so full of plants burgeoning all over the place he hadn't even seen the card.

PD, sitting with us, couldn't help asking how many horses Al had seen along our suburban street that might try eating the plant & be poisoned. It has to be admitted in the twelve years we've lived here I've not seen one.

I suspect Al will take more care in future.

I can't help remembering my mum's frustration with my dad. She would sow seeds, rear little seedlings, transplant them in the garden, then my father would feel the urge to help out in the garden. His attitude was if he didn't recognise a plant it must be weed. And that was the end of the plants my mother had so carefully nurtured. In the end she banned him from doing anything in the garden except look after the lawns. He was allowed to help pick the apples & pears from the fruit trees in the autumn but that was it. She did everything else.