I saw the first evidence of turning leaves on our red maple yesterday and I needed an afghan to sit on the porch with my first cup of coffee this morning. Those of you who do not live in the south cannot imagine how wonderful it felt.
With coffee cup in hand, I wandered down to the back yard to assess the damage I knew had occurred during our 90+ degree days when I simply pretended there was nothing out there that needed my attention. I was anticipating head-high weeds in certain places and I must say there were plenty of weeds to be found.
But there, in one corner of the garden, was a beautiful sight – the sky blue wild ageratum I rescued from a roadside ditch in West Virginia years ago. I have been picking stems of it for bouquet fillers now and then while not really appreciating that it has sat there all summer, looking beautiful, with no water and no care. The cultivated variety would have turned up its toes and died a horrible death by now.
A weed? I think not.
