My garden’s a haven to what gardeners call “volunteers.” Some are the children of plants we’ve planted over the years and others are pilgrims to my alien shore that I don’t have the heart to starve, rip to shreds, or send out into a stormy sea.
The stalk is approximately five feet high. But it didn’t squeeze out the other plant. They’re living happily together.
May all your pilgrims be grateful for the protected soil they’re growing in! Even in a crowded pot, there is room to share.
This is how my grandfather looked before he went to war (WWI). He came back with gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes and never quite overcame the stomach ailments he returned with.
His name written on the back, probably by his mother or father. This post was inspired by Bruce Goodman’s wonderful story over on Weave A Web. Check it out (but have your hankies on hand).