Several weeks ago, I posted about my intention to trim roses and clean up the various jungles which now overwhelm my flower beds as summer gets underway. A recent bout of sciatica--I affectionately refer to it as P.I.T.A. for obvious reasons--along with the stresses associated with starting massage school and a recent spate of tests have prevented me from acting on that intention.
When I trimmed this Knockout rose bush last fall, I must have been thinking bad thoughts about it, like maybe that it's crowding out some of the other plants in this front flower bed. It was planted at the same time and given the same care as the shrub next to it and pictured above, but my overzealous haircut and perhaps my murderous intention have almost killed it. This week in school I learned that research on the therapeutic value of touch has revealed that touch combined with healing intent produces better results than touch without it. In the early 1960s, a biochemist named Bernard Grad studied the effects of including a faith healer in his experiment with growing barley seeds. The seeds that were irrigated with water held by the healer fared significantly better than the seeds irrigated with water held by a group of disinterested students. I will have to be more careful with my thoughts the next time I wield any kind of implement in the garden.
This morning before I mowed I was determined to tackle not only the roses which snag me with their thorny arms as I ride by them on the mower but also this sago palm (cycad) growing in front of the porch. It seems to be suffering from some kind of blight, maybe powdery mildew.
I thought that maybe a good trim would allow the air to circulate better and prevent the mildew from attacking the new growth.
I had such a mess to clean up after trimming the cycad that I didn't get very far on the roses. Then a thunderstorm popped up and kept me from finishing them altogether as well as getting the mowing done. Woe is me! There will be no rest for the weary tomorrow (Sunday) morning.
After trimming back the cycad's fronds, I thought it best to clip off its then highly visible pollen cone. I had the best of intentions for the poor thing. Honestly!
The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove,
Each simple flower, which she had nursed in dew,
Anemonies, that spangled every grove,
The primrose wan, and hare-bell mildly blue.
No more shall violets linger in the dell,
Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again shall call forth every bell,
And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.--
Ah! poor humanity! so frail, so fair,
Are the fond visions of thy early day,
Till tyrant passion, and corrosive care,
Bid all thy fairy colors fade away!
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring;
Ah! why has happiness--no second Spring?