The very nature of gardening is a life and death matter. Out in the yard, something has to die so something else can live. Tending greenhouse-grown transplants from toxic weeds and voracious bugs requires round-the-clock protection from a hoe-wielding vegetable vigilante. Combined with hailstorms and root rot, the threats are enough to make a gardener soil his
pants plants. The signs of failure are everywhere... The plaintive plea to "Please let my flowers live" is a cry for help against all odds. Hand-lettered on the underside of a Cool-Whip container lid and nailed to a stick, the sign seen in the picture above is planted in a six-feet square plot of unpaved earth on the edge of an alley and between two driveways. Successful growing requires gardeners to listen to Mother Nature, not tell her what to do.
This begs the questions: Flowers? Here? Really? In my neighborhood, this dirty plot would be a cat toilet. So what's the point of this flower patch? To brighten the days of Denver garbage collectors? Take it from a man who has tried: Cold beer works much better!
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Seriously, if the sad sack who posted this sign was really interested in green growth, the dirt at the base of the sign post wouldn't be painted in over-spray orange.