07/08/2007

The View from Sunnybank

Hare-brained, rueful ruminations

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

Well, here's a new twist; quack grass and naïve young bunny-tails (Lagurus) are cavorting in the lawn.

In the main secret garden, "quacks” are poking up through the grass, their limp cowlicks too tall to blend properly. Closer inspection makes it clear that Mama Nature, bored with the usual weed disguises she devises for my garden beds, is branching out to try her luck with lawn. It's brilliant, actually. She's got it almost right, but fortunately the invaders' greenery, though robust, is too pale.

Gawky young blades, emboldened by a good soak, have ventured out in small gangs, like neighborhood bullies. Quack grass requires firm handling while still immature and pliable. Sighing, I fetch my ratty kneepad and proceed to hunt down every one. I can't wait: if tolerated, they'll cunningly insinuate themselves among socially acceptable turf, becoming wiry, hardened and deeply rooted — highly resistant to whatever noxious potions grass-roots experts can concoct. As my lawn is small, I don't mind playing quack-cop occasionally.

Bunny-tails are everywhere. One look at the finished product tells the tale. Each mature, plump, pale end-tuft does look rather like a rabbit's rear end, but the designer in me objects to such enthusiastic duplication in my lawn. In my beds, though, their long-stemmed, delicate charm and interesting texture fill in awkward spaces around the ripening, deflowered Asiatic lilies. But I'm overrun!

I confess: I'd gleefully scattered a packet of seeds around here two years ago (cuddly fuzzy-wuzzies pictured on its cover had proven irresistible). Unfortunately, that impulse has produced zillions of babies; control is a hand-and-knees nightmare. Dumb bunny-tails will enthusiastically bounce from beds to lawn for years, because I was hare-brained.

In the Library garden's lawn, I break up intertwined couples and pounce on more who have bumbled into distant flowerbeds, emphasizing the true scope of my foolishness. Fortunately, skinny bunny-fluff is practically rootless, while quack-gangs permanently claim turf, so this silly courtship is doomed. Gritting my teeth, I continue my crawl.

(A happier note: the grass also hosts a smattering of bow-tie greenery; tiny forget-me-not leaves are re-establishing, for next year's spring madness. This lawn will glow blue then, so I leave these babies where they've chosen to root, anticipating the magic to come.)

Somehow, the Library garden always encourages deep thoughts about important, earth-shaking matters: I've got "bunny-tails” nailed, but WHY is "quack” grass so named? I love words, and this one intrigues me.

Do ducks enjoy eating it? Perhaps I've been too hasty in discouraging mallard malingering.

Maybe it's the anguished sound homeowners make when confronted with its appearance… Nah. I never quack. (There are some things beneath my dignity, although my husband is appalled that I am NOT appalled when confused bugs fall from my hair as I crawl under shrubs and through flowerbeds extracting weeds and exhausted what-nots. I just shrug and carry on while he stands there, muttering, "This is ridiculous; I love a bug-infested woman who's rarely socially acceptable…” With a martyred sigh he stalks off, but there's a grin lurking under that grumping.)

Huh…still distracted by profundities, I note that quack grass is too skinny to squawk if I run my fingers down it just so, so it isn't that…

"Quack” means fake; this IS fake grass, rather like a bogus insurance salesman …

A beetle battles his way through the thick lawn near my kneepad as I ponder. Sighing, I finally decide it's simply another great mystery of the universe, which may reveal itself in time.

These rueful ruminations keep me chuckling as I poke around in paradise.

Dee Blair's private Traverse City secret garden at Sunnybank (325 Sixth Street) is often open to visitors daily from around 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. It's best to check the sign to be sure, or if planning a group visit, call ahead (231-929-4351) to avoid disappointment. She can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at blogs.record-eagle.com.