My gardener for some obscure reason has decided that it’s more important for her to be in Fairbanks for the birth of her great granchild rather than in my yard deciding what are weeds and what have the potential to be called flowers. One of the three trees I planted last year looks like it gave up on life sometime this past winter. The moose have nibbled on the other two causing them to show great signs of growing into bushes rather than trees. And I’m figuring that if my family eats dandelion salad, then I don’t have to count dandelions as weeds and attempt to stunt their growth. I’m just going to consider my entire yard a garden till Pat gets back. I feel distinctly uncomfortable making life and death value calls on these poor struggling little green things.