Ditch Digger, Flower Farmer --Kerry

My mother cranked the steering wheel in her bright red 1972 Mercedes into the ditch on purpose if she saw even a bit of flora and fauna that looked delectable for flower arranging. Most indigenous Oregon plants didn't' stand a chance; cattails innocently waving in the breeze, daffodils blooming, they all were prey to my mother's observant eye.

I'd slink down in the back of the car as she maneuvered us onto yet another shoulder of the road and grabbed her pruning shears out of the car in hot pursuit of another plant for her Japanese flower arranging obsession, Ikebana.

I'd fear the worst: "What if someone actually owns that cattail? What if this is private property?"

So far her only violations have been from a few people honking the horn and a brush with three feet of mud, in which she completely lost one of her plastic rubber boots and had to walk to her car in muddy socks. I don't know which was worse sensory overload, the smelly mud or the scotch broom that was jammed in over my head.

Completely unrepentant, she claimed that the only thing that bothered her about the incident was the sucking sound of the boot as it went under.

So without trepidation I pulled the car over the other day - a beautiful, crisp, lush Oregon Spring day and tried to avoid taking furtive glances over my shoulder. I had spotted a Magnolia, in what I deemed was a "public property" ditch. I wrenched it from the branch as best I could without pruning shears. I realized I too had joined the club.

Anyone else a club member of "ditch pilferers anonymous?"