Yesterday, at Garden Bed 4, we shoveled up some un-pretty honking big blackberry roots and got out the spray. Ooh! That’s a high. Better than mashing flies against the window panes. Almost as good as 11-year-old Emma Mulberry’s stint as Orthogirl slaying carpenter ants in the fruit room with Ant B-gone spray. Kill kill spray those roots down.
Anyway, after the spray, we laid down the B.B. barrier ground cover cloth and commenced shoveling the sieved out, sorted-through earth back into G.B. 4. Heaped it up to the top of G.B. 4’s spanking new cedar wall. Not all of the old soy-yull fit inside our new-engineered framework. After some head-scratching, we decided on a transfer into G.B. 1. But G.B. 1 was a mess of potato plant squidges, under appreciated tulips, rocks, inner tubes, chive clump, and last year’s tomato stakes. G.B. 1 was not yet worthy of our sieved and plucked soil. G.B. 1 required a thorough cleaning and reorganization. The punk rocker chive clump would be relocated to G.B. 4., the potato embryos aborted, the frill-edged tulip bulbs dug up for transport to a better neighborhood.
So I started digging and Hey! What’s this thumb-sized, spike-eared leafy thing? Kinda looks like a B.B. Sure it’s cute-as-a-button now, but it’s going to get nasty and tenacious. And before you know it, and while the neighbors are out doing the leisurely Sat. a.m. breakfast on the deck thing, I’m digging and shoveling and sieving and plucking out the B.B. roots with a jeweler’s eye. And after about forty heave-hos of digging up potate-lets and punkrocker chive heads and ruffle-edged tulip bulbs and plenty of rocks, the shovel tucks up under a mighty-strong root. And after some scraping and fighting, the shovel tears the root in two and comes up victorious. But is it really a B.B.? How come its running straight from yon green gage plum? Could it be this root isn’t of the blackberrium himalayium, but of prunus? Husband and I inspect. We rub away the dirt, to something cherry bark gleamy. We do a longitudinal cleave. Our vaguely horticultural eye reads this as wood, not vine. I give it a lick. Tastes like tree.
We swivel our noses around to G.B. 4 and the 15 foot distant cherry. Hmm. That b.b. root motherlode we gung-holy sprayed with root killer just now. Maybe also genus prunus?