The picture above shows a plant which my husband calls wolf tails. “Once it starts,” he says, “it cannot be stopped.”

Our sons are the downstairs neighbors, and the upstairs neighbors are a trio of girls who have been planting a garden. This wolf tails specimen was by itself in a prepared border, and it is an aggressive weed, so my husband pulled it up for them.

However, the boys didn’t remember the wolf tails being there before the girls started their garden. So my husband replanted the wolf tails and watered them in with the boys’ teapot.

This may sound like a five minute episode in the midst of our tourism, but it was actually at least half an hour of intense speculation about the girls’ intentions, what kind of plant should be planted there, and how their garden should be improved.

We prevented my husband from moving the girls’ flowers and trimming their hedge, but he finished up by telling #1 son, “You should help them. You’re a man!”

“Okay,” #1 son said. “I’ll cut their hedge flat.”

“Don’t start doing it,” my husband cautioned our son. “Wait till they start and then go help them.”

“Tell them they’re doing it wrong,” I added, because I know how my husband approaches this, “and take over.”

“I will. I will,” #1 son assured us.


It’s a nice back yard.