I had an epiphany as I worked on my lawn today.
What passes for soil in suburban Omaha, at least on my circle, is impervious clay gradually being turned into something like soil by a dense matt of creeping charlie roots. I have misjudged this little plant, wrongly relegated to life as a weed by lawn care and herbicide companies.
My retirement and checking account would be greatly eased if I could get creeping charlie named the Nebraska State Ground-Cover. Think of it.… My front yard could become a shrine of sorts. I’d give seminars on the cultivation of Charles (the name change would improve the image). My fee for speaking would be reasonable, and I’d still have time to rate or relax with the granddaughters. I could teach them the art and science of cultivating Charles.
As the day became hot, I would send the little ones off to ask Grandma for cold beverages: lemonade, iced tea, gin and tonic, perhaps some medicinal brandy over ice. I’d have to be careful on this. Grandma is known to be suspicious about my beverages.
She hasn’t been a big fan of my brainstorms, either–been a bit testy ever since I tried squirrel fishing. When I shared this idea with her, she ordered me to stay out of the sun, drink cold water, and wear a hat.