Pink Petticoats

Day 210: When I first moved into my home over twenty years ago, the flowerbeds were little more than extensions of the weedy yard, untended for many years. Since it was the beginning of the growing season, a friend volunteered to help me clean them out. We dug and sifted, raking through the dirt with our fingers to eliminate as many grass roots as possible, and every now and then, we'd come up with a clump of something which, if not immediately identifiable as a cultivated variety, bore promise of producing a blooming plant of some sort or another. We replanted them with the thought that if they turned out to be weeds, they could always be removed later.

As the year progressed toward summer, delphiniums sprang up, peonies leafed out, foxglove emerged, Oriental poppies raised fuzzy heads and columbine spread its lacy foliage above the bare earth. Having been on exotic (read "invasive") plant detail when I was a ranger, I descended on the foxglove with a will to destroy. The rest were allowed to remain, and over the next few years, I shifted them to permanent locations in the bed.

One thing distressed me, though. The columbines (a plant I love) were all pink. My readers may recall my sentiments toward that color, but nevertheless, I couldn't bear to weed out anything which bloomed so willingly. I tried unsuccessfully to plant other colors, longing for the blue shades seen in the wild in the Rocky Mountains or even the red-and-yellow species native here. Nothing took. It was as if Nature was determined to force me into an appreciation of pink despite my protests.

Columbine reseeds freely, and these pink petticoats have popped up unexpectedly in the strawberry jar, a spot which will not allow them space to put down permanent roots. I suppose I might as well resign myself to finding a spot for them because I cannot in good conscience toss them out as weeds.