The trouble with Canadian thistles is that they are beautiful. At first glance this noxious weed is pretty. I rescued one from the clutches of my husband’s line trimmer two years ago, and I’m still regretting it.
“Don’t cut that down. It’s too pretty.” My husband was cutting weeds surrounding our cabin. “Look at it.” I pointed to the plant. Light green leaves graced a tall stem. Purple pom type blooms crowned the top.
I failed to notice the sharp barbs on the leaves though I vaguely remembered that when the flowers went to seed, they filled the air with fluffy white dandelion like seeds.
“Don’t cut it down.” I pled my case. “Look at how graceful it is. It’s a work of art.”
Reluctantly, he agreed to save the plant and moved off to another batch of weeds. Summer passed as did a beautiful autumn and before we knew it, we had closed the cabin and winter snows covered the ground and buried the Canadian thistle.
The next spring, we made our first journey to open the cabin and found the entire parking area covered with— Canadian thistles as I wrote in my last column. Squinting as I looked at them, the little offspring of the mother thistle I’d protected last year didn’t look beautiful.
In fact, they looked downright ugly. Sharp pointy leaves edged in sharp barbs. No flowers yet but I could see that there would be and shuddered at the thought of thistle seeds filling the air.
We unpacked groceries and opened the cabin and all the while I felt slightly guilty. All the extra work Dick would be doing was my fault. He is the lawn and landscape person.
I felt guilty as I watched him dig and spray for the next day or two. When the weekend was over and we went home, Dick searched the Internet for information and armed ourselves with the knowledge of other experiences.
The plant is extremely difficult to get rid of. It has deep, wide-spreading roots. The laments were many, and we tried to stay mentally prepared for a real battle on our next visit.
We were pleasantly surprised when we pulled into the driveway to see that the plants had turned a sickly green and were drooping. To all appearances, we had won the thistle battle.
Or had we?
Leave a Reply