Ground elder

How I hate ground elder! I have spent the best part of this afternoon digging up ground elder in the cottage garden. To my horror, I spotted it there last week and, by today, it had spread sufficiently to make the rest of the plants in the area look worried. It's a pernicious weed, ground elder - allegedly introduced by the Romans as a salad plant / to treat gout and arthritis. The trouble is, if it gets a root-hold, you can't get rid of the stuff, and it spreads like mad. Admittedly, it makes good ground cover, but it also strangles any other plants in its path. More about ground elder here

Anyway, having filled a couple of sacks with all parts of the ground elder plant - I'm still planning an onslaught tomorrow morning and then every time I go to the cottage through the summer - I realised yet again that my health improves every day. Before I moved here, my garden was full of ground elder; for the first couple of years, I attacked it with vigour. By the time my mother became sick, I had lost enthusiasm for the ground elder war that raged each summer, not because I didn't want to dispose of the horrible stuff but because I was simply too tired to do so (and by that time, my cancer was probably well underway). Last year, I would have been unable to dig because of my post-operative scar and post-radiotherapy tiredness. This year, however, I'm able to launch myself with gusto into disposing of unwanted garden plants.

Hmmm, in a strange way, maybe I'm not so appalled by the appearance of ground elder after all...