I know almost nothing about plants other than the fact that Japanese knotweed is evil

My wife is a gardener and somewhat of a flower/plant expert. Well, "expert" when compared with me, anyway.

I have little knowledge and even less interest in all things botanical. When it comes to the greenery in our yard, I care only about the grass getting cut and potentially hazardous tree branches being trimmed.

The rest is Terry's domain.

Over the years, she has done the majority of weed pulling and flower tending, and she is a saint for it. The kids have gotten involved sometimes, and I'm out there whenever she needs a little extra muscle or simply cannot take bending over to pull out stray thistles and morning glory vines anymore.

We've spent considerable time in the flower beds this summer removing unwanted green things, some of which were quite obviously weeds even to a novice like me, and others of which I would have just assumed were desirable plants but in fact were also weeds.

An example of the latter is Japanese knotweed, a plant that has been growing freely in our backyard bed. It's the one in the photo at the top of today's post.

I thought it looked kind of nice, but do a little reading on Japanese knotweed and you'll find it to be the very definition of "invasive."

For one thing, it's roots run deep and strong. We're talking roots that go down 30 feet or more. To the point that they can break through concrete, choke out native plants, and do a heck of a number on backyard ecosystems.

You can pull it up – and we did – but it's almost certainly going to come back in time.

I only learned all of his about Japanese knotweed from my daughter Elissa, who gave us the details about the demon plant infesting our backyard after I identified it using the highly useful Google Lens app.

We removed enough Japanese knotweed to make the backyard look nice for my daughter Chloe's baby shower this Saturday. We will, however, inevitably have to deal with it again, and soon.

This is one reason I can't stand pulling weeds. It's a never-ending job, and it seldom feels like you're really getting anywhere.

On the other hand, I do have some appreciation for the beautiful flowers Terry has planted around our yard. They look nice, but I never know what each one is called.

I can point out marigolds and black-eyed Susans when I see them, but beyond that, I tend to be lost.

That's why I made up a fake/generic name for any plant or flower I can't identify. One time Terry saw a plant she wasn't sure about, so I confidently told her, "Oh, those are Jupiter Polkas."

She looked at me strangely, as this would have been the first time I've ever known the name of a plant she didn't. After a half-second of bewilderment, though, she realized I was just making stuff up.

Which is what I do 99% of the time. I seldom really know what I'm doing or what's going on, so I just make stuff up. You would be shocked how well this approach to life works.

In fact, let that be your takeaway from today's post: If someone asks you to identify a plant, flower, shrub or tree, just tell them it's a Jupiter Polka. And say it with conviction.

If it's not Terry you're talking to, they'll be so impressed, trust me.

My life has devolved into a battle against the driveway weeds

I don't water our lawn, so I don't feel bad when it starts to turn a brownish green about this time every summer.

I'm also not too put out by the honeysuckle that grows unimpeded along the fence and threatens to claim our entire property if left unchecked.

There is, however, one plant I cannot stand. I don't know its name, and I don't actually care.

All I know is I want it dead.

I'm referring to the insidious weeds that somehow manage to take root in the cracks of our driveway then proceed to grow like...well, like weeds.

Each year I wage a battle against these little green monsters that inevitably ends in my favor, but not before much weeping and gnashing of teeth (on my part, not the weeds').

I don't know why these small botanical devils enrage me so much, but I can't stand it when they make their first appearance in mid-spring. I get even madder when I pull or spray them and they pop right back up less than a month later.

Just die already, demon plants.

If only I felt half as much enmity toward the weeds that grow in our flower beds. Our yard would win awards if I hated them the way I hate the driveway weeds.

I think it has something to do with the fact that the driveway didn't ask for any of this. The lawn is fair game because it's several hundred square feet of plant material that understands its position in life. It knows weeds are part of the deal when you're a large blob of sod. 

But the driveway? The driveway is a dozen or so innocent concrete squares that know little of plants and care even less. Its only job is to convey our cars smoothly onto and off of the road, and it does this beautifully.

Then suddenly weeds burst onto the scene and ruin everything for the poor driveway. They have the audacity to grow from cracks a fraction of an inch across. They besmirch an otherwise pleasantly gray expanse running up to your garage or alongside your house. They are an eyesore that refuses to go away without the application of brute force or copious amounts of Round-Up.

I have a grudging respect for their staying power and tenacity, but that does nothing to reduce my desire to kill them.

Of all the things that threaten our society today, driveway weeds are among the least regarded and therefore among the most deceivingly dangerous. Ignore them at your own peril.

Now, I will freely admit this is not the sentiment of, say, a 25-year-old single person.  This is the way a grumpy 53-year-old homeowner thinks and the way he blows a relatively minor irritant all out of proportion.

But I'm telling you, don't sleep on the driveway weeds. They're crafty. They're relentless. They have no qualms about making your life a landscaping hell.

Death is too good for them, but I will nonetheless deliver them there with a small pointed shovel in my hand and a smile on my face.