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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
11
I
think
it
was
the
way
the
weeds
flourished
that
put
an
end
at
last
to
my
hesitations
about
taking
an
experienced
gardener
and
giving
him
a
reasonable
number
of
helpers,
for
I
found
that
much
as
I
enjoyed
privacy,
I
yet
detested
nettles
more,
and
the
nettles
appeared
really
to
pick
out
those
places
to
grow
in
where
my
sweetest
things
were
planted,
and
utterly
defied
the
three
meek
men
when
they
made
periodical
and
feeble
efforts
to
get
rid
of
them.
I
have
a
large
heart
in
regard
to
things
that
grow,
and
many
a
weed
that
would
not
be
tolerated
anywhere
else
is
allowed
to
live
and
multiply
undisturbed
in
my
garden.
They
are
such
pretty
things,
some
of
them,
such
charmingly
audacious
things,
and
it
is
so
particularly
nice
of
them
to
do
all
their
growing,
and
flowering,
and
seed-bearing
without
any
help
or
any
encouragement.
I
admit
I
feel
vexed
if
they
are
so
officious
as
to
push
up
among
my
tea
roses
and
pansies,
and
I
also
prefer
my
paths
without
them;
but
on
the
grass,
for
instance,
why
not
let
the
poor
little
creatures
enjoy
themselves
quietly,
instead
of
going
out
with
a
dreadful
instrument
and
viciously
digging
them
up
one
by
one?
Once
I
went
into
the
garden
just
as
the
last
of
the
three
inept
ones
had
taken
up
his
stand,
armed
with
this
implement,
in
the
middle
of
the
sheet
of
gold
and
silver
that
is
known
for
convenience'
sake
as
the
lawn,
and
was
scratching
his
head,
as
he
looked
round,
in
a
futile
effort
to
decide
where
he
should
begin.
I
saved
the
dandelions
and
daisies
on
that
occasion,
and
I
like
to
believe
they
know
it.
They
certainly
look
very
jolly
when
I
come
out,
and
I
rather
fancy
the
dandelions
dig
each
other
in
their
little
ribs
when
they
see
me,
and
whisper,
"Here
comes
Elizabeth;
she's
a
good
sort,
ain't
she?"--for
of
course
dandelions
do
not
express
themselves
very
elegantly.
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