I spent part of the morning with our devoted VP of Parks in the Victory Gardens removing two enormous limbs that had fallen from one of the willows at the end of Row E onto the main walking path of the Boylston section.  (And, on a less heroic note, cleaning up poo an incontinent overnight visitor had left in front of my gate.  I know that Fenway Community Health strings up condoms for our overnight guests.  It may be time they started leaving Depends, as well.)

Quite a storm though, wasn't it?  I was in the garden just before all hell broke loose yesterday.  Two fellow gardeners urged me to get out, even though I was sure the storm would blow right over, it was moving at such a furious clip.  I did, it didn't, and man, was I glad I got indoors.

It so happens I went shopping instead of staying out and getting soaked.  And picked up the most adorable Austrian in town on business at Filene's Basement!  And this is the Boylston Street Basement, where they don't even have that fabulous Hall of Mirrors fitting room they used to have at Downtown Crossing.  It was like a barracks shower or something. Step right up!  Don't be shy!  At the new one they have an attendant and individual stalls, of course.  But you can still find love (a certain kind of love anyway) in the vault, if you're lucky.  And shopping Filene's Basement is all about luck, as everybody knows.

Anyway, back at the garden, the two massive limbs of the compromised willow have left a third seriously compromised.  I think it's been two or three summers ago that Parks last came around with a crew of shirtless sweaty college boys in dueling cherry-pickers to trim the willows.  They need more regular care, obviously.  Please send them around again.  Please.

The VP of parks growled he'd like to see the whole tree taken out.  And while that would mean the Parks Boys would be around for a while, I'm actually a big fan of those willows.  They provide the most delicious dappled sunlight in the late afternoon.  With regular maintenance they'd be perfectly fine where they are.  As it is though, they're a danger to gardeners — the special needs garden is located between them — and passersby below.

Luckily the newbie assigned to the garden that was basically demolished by the two massive limbs had yet to get to work on the long-derelict plot.  She was starting to get on everybody's nerves with her daily trips to look in on her new plot, cooing at it, and telling passersby: "this is my new garden!  It speaks to my soul!"

That was her big line when the VP of Parks offered it to her.  "It speaks to my soul!" I would have asked her what it was saying, because all I heard was "Weed me!  Weed me before I go to seed!"  We're a pretty hardened lot in Row E.  We'd rather your new plot spoke to your hands than your heart, at least until you got it under control.

Too late now. 

It was quite a storm, though.  Yes, indeed.