Ya heard me, Pardner. I like my Golden Barrels the same as I like my whiskey. NEAT!*
Unfortunately, BC, my yard boy, is in Philadelphia for the week, which means I'm in charge of this little plot of rocky ground. As I scouted the area today, I looked at our Golden Barrel and thought...that sucker is not good.
It's homely, it's prickly, and it's messin' with my mood. So...let's just get rid of the little brown buggers. "Ouch!" Maybe we need some pliers. And...that's when I discovered this...
Hiding under each of those stickery little clumps is one great big, soft, fluffy, cotton ball. How cool is that? I gave it a careful, teensy touch and it's just like the fat Walmart cotton ball I used on my face this morning. So I plucked and I plucked and I plucked...
Very carefully as these thorns mean business, until it suddenly occured to me that I could be killing this thing.
Yard Boy BC would be one unhappy camper if he returned from Philly to find his Golden Barrel, lovingly (so to speak) cultivated for eight years had taken the count. So...I'll check it tomorrow and if it's still fat, plump, green and kicking, we'll continue the project.
*NOTE: Just in case any of you were horrified at that comment, I really don't like my whiskey neat. I'm more of a '60s Whiskey Sour sort of person, although I don't think anyone today would know how to make them in that '60s sort of way. It did sound like something a Dodge City girl should say, though, didn't it?
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