Friday, June 14, 2013
When I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, it was bad enough that the girls had to deal with an alcoholic father, but when they finally got a tree – it was a stinkweed!
I have been on a war against stink weeds for most of my life. My husband, the alien, calls my crusade: Botanic Cleansing. I’ve pulled as many as a hundred on a single walk around the neighborhood.
My husband uses his trash-picker to collect potato bags and beer bottles (not all of which are empty, or even open). I pull up stink weeds.
I was clearly propagandized by this song and story:
I like to get them while they are young and easy to uproot. I don’t wait until they’re lifting up sidewalks and destroying front steps. They are all guilty of future evil. And, if they are allowed to live, they’ll make seeds, and the seeds will grow into even more giant stinkweeds. They may look like cute green trees – but I know better.
Touch them and your hands will stink – a stink that mere soap will not wash off. Buildings downtown have needed major repair because a stinkweed rooted itself between stones, or in a crevice beside a window.