Well, we did it. We weeded Champorama and it looks tons better than it did. But people? PEOPLE. It was so hot that I swear to you, I almost keeled over and died. D-I-E-D, died. And though I am a bit of an embellisher, in this particular instance I AM NOT EMBELLISHING. Death was upon me.
Three intrepid guerillas showed up to the Sunday event, sunglasses on, sunscreen on, gardening gloves on, game faces on. These three intrepid guerillas began attacking the bindweed with enthusiasm. These three intrepid guerillas began turning the overgrown, forgotten Champorama garden into something of order and beauty.
And then one of the guerillas got sort of woozy and lost her intrepidness.
And then had to lay down in the shade.
And shortly thereafter announced that the "job was done!" and stumbled for the shelter of her air conditioned car.
I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, dear friends, that that guerilla was me, your fearless/ful leader.
I was less embarrassed by my near-brush-with-death/intense-need-to-get-into-some-air-conditioning-OMG, when I learned that we had been slaving away in the blistering heat for an hour and half. I had this nagging fear that we had been pulling weeds for a measly ten minutes before I called it quits, but an hour and a half? That's impressive, especially considering it was 4 billion degrees out.
So Champorama was a success! I don't have before and after pictures for you because the Sun ate our camera (and also we forgot to take pictures), so instead I present you with this fab-u-lous drawing I made all by myself with my beyond amazing Photoshop skills:
I want to extend a SUPER-DEE-DUPER thumbs up to the guerilla who championed the Champorama event, a girl whose name I will not give in case she fears John Q. Lawman, a girl who looks darn cute in a cowboy hat and can prune a rose bush like it's nobody's business, and the girl who gave me lemonade when I thought I was going toward the light. To you, girl-who-loves-cactus-and-cowboy-boots: YOU ARE AWESOME.
I also want to thank my Coppertone SPF 50 spray-on sunscreen, which somehow managed to keep my pale-pale-paleness from igniting.
Second-To-Lastly, I am sad to report that my urn at Meridian Hill has died a hideous death, due to heat and lack of water. I drove past the urn twice this weekend and both drive-bys showed me that only DEATH grew in that pot. Alas, we mourn your loss, sweet urn. May you find happiness in the Great Big Garden In The Sky.
And now For-Real-Lastly, what's up with the lack of interest in the Cultivate Your Cut-Out Contest? Is it because GuerillaGardening.org's name, Pimp Your Pavement, is cooler? I'll admit that they have the cooler name, but my gardening friends, do you not see the amazingness that is our contest? I mean, a $50 prize AND a ribbon?! And the ribbon says, "You kicked that cut-out's ass?" C'mon! The ribbon says "ass!" How can you not be enticed by such wonderful prizes as these? In all of DCGG contest history (of which there is none), this is our bestest contest ever. There should be scores of entrants, scores of cut-outs, scores of people declaring, "I WILL take back this wee piece of green space and I WILL turn it into something of beauty!" So get your butts in gear, folks, and take over a tree pit. Mama Earth will thank you.