When I moved into Château Bimbeaux two years ago, the front garden was a bit overgrown. I weeded one day, and missed one little leafy weed. I was going to pull it up later, but then I became fascinated with it. I had never seen a weed grow with such a hearty lust for life. And seeing as I like Iggy Pop, I hadn't the heart to rip it up.
It has become my pet, this little weed. I have watched it grow from a 6 inch little twig, to its current height of about 25 feet. I remember the day that it was tall enough to be eye level when standing on the balcony. I was going to give it a car and send it off to college.
People never believe me when I tell them that the "tree" in the front yard is actually a two year old weed.
This morning I was awoken once again by an obnoxiously loud petrol-driven appliance. I looked through the slats of my window shutters and sho' nuff, dere be One Leaf Luthah, leafblowing a tiny scrap of paper in the middle of the street. A symphony of other petrol-driven devices began up, and I got exasperated and left the house. No amount of T. Rex could drown out all this noise.
Going outside, I noticed something wrong. It took me a minute, then it hit me: my 25 foot weed was gone!
One of the louder devices must have been a chainsaw, for it took a chainsaw to cut through my weed.
I have guests in town for Halloween. I told them about the weed.
"Naw, man, that's a tree. Look at the root structure! Look at the size of the trunk ferpisssakes!"
"Yah, it's a weed with a root structure and a big trunk. Look, here's a baby weed over here," I said, pointing to a new one. "Same kind."
"Two years old?" they asked incredulously.
"Yes. Look. There are only two rings on the trunk."