Hey, I'm ALL for trees. And I'm all for enthusiastically trying to reproduce oneself all over the place. Whoa, What? 


It turns out that the garden I'm working on now is in the direct line of fire of a giant Maple tree. And now Mr, Maple is blowing his samaras all over my business. They are everywhere, I even found 2 in the dishwasher, somehow.

And when I saw them, I muttered, "Holy samaras!"

Yeah, I said samaras.

You may say helicopter, whirligig or @#$@%$&^%#*&$, but I call them samaras. These winged seed packets are what baby Maples are made from. These samaras themselves don't really bug me that much (a total lie), but Maple Babies drive me Nutella. Now is the time to carefully rake them out before they sprout, although I will admit to dreaming about ShopVac-ing them out. 

It'd be a great application for a leaf blower, if ever there was one. 

There isn't. 

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