Day 201: You may have heard it said that pigs are the perfect animal because you can use "everything but the squeal." Well, here's the good news: the squeal has horticultural value.
Pigsqueak (Bergenia sp.) is so named because its thick, leathery leaves and thumb-sized stems squeal like a prize porker when you pick or bend them (albeit a very small one). The sound is the botanical counterpart to fingernails on a chalkboard, gentled only by its organic nature; softer than the complaint of a cat whose tail has been stepped on, not quite as strident as a three-year old child in a tantrum.
So why do I have Pigsqueak in my garden? It came with the property. It grows in the ten-foot width of the lovingly-termed "Barren Wasteland" between the north side of the garage and the south wall of the house, one of the few things which thrive there. Pink or not, I am grateful for the spot of color it provides and despite my sentiments regarding its hue, it is permitted to remain. I'm not one to look a gift pig in the mouth.
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