Have you noticed how the flowers in your garden do not seem to grow with the same amazing flourish as the weeds?  These little invaders manage to shoot out of the ground at an amazing pace while you are mollycoddling the flowers beside them.

One morning each week I start early and wage war on the weeds.  Gardening gloves on, rather awkwardly, as I have them on the wrong hands so the holey fingers are on the left hand, and my trusty trowel, I set to work.

It is easy to see which are the weeds, they are the healthy, green ones.  The ones that are stretching up to reach the sun, strong roots and healthy leaves, these are the ones that need to go.  The delicate little stems, struggling for survival, are the actual flowers, I try not to disturb these.

Maybe plants are like animals.  Purebred dogs get diseases handed down from their aristocratic parents, hip displacia, for example, is very common in larger breeds. Dogs and cats of unknown parentage tend to be healthier, spend far less time at the vets and live to be a ripe old age, quite happy about their lack of quality breeding.  That also describes myself and most of the friends I have.

Whatever the reason, weeds are survivors.  I have a bank of yukkas across the bottom of the yard that are beautifully strong and healthy, their white blooms are a joy to see.  Unfortunately, the appearance of these lovely blossoms always seems to coincide with the arrival of a monsoon, so the petals get ripped off and strewn across the ground, like a mid-summer snowfall.  Below the yukkas is a carpet of bright green and yellow ground cover.  It looks really pretty until you realize that most of it is buttercups.  Struggling among the buttercups are some strands of groundcover that I actually planted.  Getting rid of the buttercups is a losing battle so I let them be.

Viewed from afar they look wonderful so I leave them alone, hey if they want to volunteer their services, who am I to complain?