My mom visited The Commune today. Don’t worry guys, there wasn’t anything scandalous in evidence. In fact, she was stoked – maybe even a little jealous. She particularly liked the yellow and seafoam tile in the kitchen (in a totally legitimate, non-ironic way), and the fact that the air vent in the upstairs bathroom blows all the toilet paper off the roll.
Seeing The Commune from my mom’s eyes, though, I noticed that our yard (other than what has been converted to farmland, of course) is FULL OF MOTHERFUCKING WEEDS. Or should I say WAS. After my mom went home, I began to purge the garden. Never fear, Pie Face – I haven’t made any changes, done anything fun or drastic, or planted/rearranged anything at all. Haha. I’m too much of an amateur for that, I need your expertise. But I didn’t want you to get here and think I’d been ignoring the yard completely ;). What I did do was rip up more weeds than I thought possible (and I’m pretty sure there are more). They were huge. They were everywhere. Some of them had spikes. It was totally satisfying.
Under the weeds in the big box against the garage I found all kinds off cool things! Parsley (grown extremely tall and stalky due to weed chokage), rosemary (2 bushes!), a miniature peony (and you know how I feel about peonies ❤ ❤ <3), forget-me-nots (also tall and stalky), bluebells (done blooming though, boo), a pink snapdragon, and a couple of plants I cannot name but I know are not weeds (PF…? haha). There’s so many plants here! And does anybody know what the small tree with the light pink/purple flowers next to the grassy area is? I’d take a picture now but it’s dark out.
Jon suggested we plant mint. My response? Dude, fuck mint. If we plant any mint it goes in a damn pot.
Mint aside, I’m excited!!
The box behind the garage. I realized afterwards that I should have done a before and after... instead, here is a mid-point shot.
Shannon-the-other are discussing. 
thaler, 
The Commune 
Not-a-Dr. Thaler 10:39 pm on January 25, 2012 Permalink |
Hey, a commune blog post!
Thumbs up.