This is me, bowing in absolute submission to the reality of the conditions in my back yard. The rabbitbrushes were on sale.
“The once lovely English-style border, replete with old roses, irises, crocosmias, and various other things that delight the connoisseur has been transformed into a revolting melange of straggly, scrawny things that most people would mow down to the ground. Inclusion of that stockmen’s horror, the awful rabbitbrush, strikes us as an offense to the integrity of the American garden.”
Not to mention that it needed watering once a day, and didn’t get it.
In truth, the North Border–the horticultural equivalent of the House of the Rising Sun–has been a graveyard for so many plants it frightens me to think of the money sunk into it. Rabbitbrush to the rescue, even if it means visitors shudder when they walk past.
“Pray for the safety of the mind.” —Jack Kerouac