You can pull it out, but it will never die.

When we first moved in, ten years ago, we had big plans for the landscaping around the property. The first priority, however, was the vegetable garden. Even before we moved in, we had the garden tilled.

So it was natural that, when we had the odd plant that was supposed to go in some perennial bed not yet existent, we tucked it into the vegetable garden until its ultimate home was ready.

In my foolishness, I did this with horseradish.

I have spent the last ten years regretting it.

The horseradish never did establish well where we wanted it, but it thrives in the vegetable garden. I have dug it out down to 30 cm. I have planted large, smothering crops over it. I weed it out as soon as it pokes its leaves above ground. And still, the patch expands every year.

I like horseradish, and we eat the larger roots I pull, but never again will I plant it where I don’t want it.

It’s a dreary, drizzly day, so I thought I’d base today’s post on a lovely flower photo from last summer!

Ten years ago, when we moved into our house, there were drifts of bulbs–glads, daffodils, snow drops, grape hyacinths, etc.—planted all around the house. One of our first jobs was to re-pile the south side of the house, which was largely held up by a few broken bricks and toilet seats (I kid you not). We hated to just trample all those bulbs, and we wanted to get vegetation away from that side of the house anyway, to help dry it out a bit. So we dug up all those bulbs—hundreds of them. I tucked many of them into the end of the vegetable garden, for lack of any other place to put them. My intention was always to remove them once we’d managed some landscaping in other places.

I did end up moving most of them, but I’ve grown rather fond of the glads that pop up around the garden gate every year. That end of the garden isn’t very productive because there is too much tree competition, so I’ve left the flowers. Vegetables are every bit as ornamental as “ornamental” plants, but it’s nice to have a bit of useless beauty amidst all those hard-working vegetables (and the hard-working gardener).

The catalog has arrived! After a brief tussle with my husband, I snagged first rights to it. I poured a glass of wine, curled up next to the fire, and prepared to feast my eyes on what Ian calls ‘gardener’s porn’.

I have a seed catalog ritual. When the catalog comes, I first flip through quickly, looking at pictures, checking for new plants and things that catch my eye, and revisiting ‘old friends’. The second time through, I circle those seeds I know or think I want to buy. The third time through, I prepare my order, consulting my list of needs, and selecting or rejecting the many ‘wants’ I’ve circled.

I look at my order critically then. It almost always shocks me how many seed packets are on the list. Do I really need both large and small gourds? How many tomato varieties is too many?

While I’m fretting over the length of my list, Ian usually snags the catalog. He invariably manages to goad, heckle, and request several more seeds onto my order.

He is the id, and my super-ego has no chance against him when it comes to seeds. I give in every time, and the order gets longer.

Finally, the order is made and sent off, but the catalog doesn’t necessarily get put away. It remains out for a few days as we all enjoy the bright colours of summer in the middle of winter.