I Blame the Lorax

And the parents, too, of course.

It is all their fault I spent half the weekend in my pig boots digging up New England asters out of heavy clay that were in the path of the bulldozers clearing the site for the new Menard's store. I filled the back of my van twice, planting the first load before I went back for the second load.

I've been admiring these asters every fall in the "vacant lot" (vacant of man-made structures, not of plants, bugs, worms, birds, or small furry animals) next to the Wal-Mart. Last year I collected seed heads from dozens of them, and I've been planting the seeds all over our property. They take a couple of years to get to blooming size, and wildflower seeds don't always sprout in the first year, so it will be a while before I see results.

When I read that a Menard's was going into the lot next to Wal-Mart, I knew the asters were doomed. When I saw the bulldozers, I had to get moving.

Clay is heavy. When my arms are very tired, my fingers tremor when I knit.

I couldn't get them all. I am so sorry, asters that are now sludge under the bulldozer treads. I wish there were ten of me, a hundred of me with a hundred vans.

Bees of all fuzzy stripes love these flowers. Honey bees and bumble bees were landing on them even as I planted them.

My son asked, "Do you hope they won't bulldoze them?" And I had to answer, "No, I know they will bulldoze them." He said, "You saved all you could." And I said, "Yes."