Merrill is brave enough to thistle alone, but Thistler's Mother, or Dad with a cold drink, might lurk in the periphery, just in case the weeds begin to get the upper hand.
Thistler pops off the seed head, then digs up the prickly stalk. Flowers must be bagged and burned, or they will continue to mature and spread their poison, even while the parent plant is decapitated, uprooted, and left in the sun to die.
In spite of this violence, time slows when you're thistling. Slow enough to search out the nest of a red-winged blackbird that flushes as you pass by.
4 comments:
Go Merrill!!
Wow, those sound worse than morning glories for spreading and choking out other plants. (I never thought of them as weeds until I had to untangle them from the bean plants at First Fruits!)
love the nest of eggs, we are collecting specimens. I just love the colors of the shells. God is the best artist. J.B.
Just happened upon your blog. Thanks for mentioning the nest in the thistles - it helped me solve a mystery tonight. I admire your faith, thank you for sharing that as well. Happy Nebraska Summer from Wisconsin.
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