I pull five weeds every day.  Not four.  Not six.  Five.  That was the rule I had when the kids were growing up.  If you wanted to come in the house, pull five weeds from the flower beds.  There were six of us, so it kept it under control and nobody ever had a big chore of weeding flowerbeds.

I still do that.  Five.  However, I may--in the future--allow my self to only do four.  Three could be on the horizon.  Leaning over is the problem.  And if I get on my knees, I can’t get back up without some strange gyrations.  That I hope the neighbors aren’t watching.

I’ve found that if my handyman Ron mulches the beds in November, the weed seeds don’t sprout in the spring--very much.  I used to mulch in March, but no more.  There is better control with deep mulch before Thanksgiving.

My neighbor Jeannine brought pecan hulls over for a yew I planted.  (Yes, I got the Yew in the ground myself in the spring.)  The thing hasn’t been doing very well.  She said I didn’t get it deep enough.  So I got a shovel and lowered it a couple of inches.  (I dig better than I bend.) It still isn’t looking happy.  It’s the heat.  Even the astilbe’s leaves are brown and crunchy.  Everything in the garden is dead.  It is supposed to be 104 here this week.  And Tulsa--in the heart of “Green Country” is going to be 106.