Death of a Giant

Early this spring, a giant began growing among us. As most things that will one day be giant do, it started out small. In the unlikely bed of our front yard flower garden, a spiky and unpleasant being slowly emerged near a yearling apple tree.

Since I don't generally run around taking pictures of all the varieties of volunteers that happen to grow in our yard - and since this one did not at first appear to be something of note- I don't have any baby pictures for the giant. A cursory google image search rendered this substitute:

Nothing out of the ordinary here. It's a weed. There are hundreds (thousands) of them. We shake our fists (and pull them) to no avail. We are used to this.

Immediately, due to Hau's long standing lust for invasive weed destruction, we identified this as a thistle. Utah has a few native thistle species. Not wanting to possibly remove a native, we decided to let it be. Positive identification would be easier once the plant matured a bit. If it turned out to be exotic, we would pull this beastie on one of the regular sunny afternoons often consumed by the meditative practice of controlling kochia and "red root" our usual garden weeds.

Kochia is planted by ranchers who buy seeds from local hardware and feed stores to vegetate their pasture. Therefore, pulling this is like Sisyphus pushing the boulder.

This is only one of many annoying parts of this plant. We've never positively identified it, but I heard a rumor that locals call this 'red root.' This one also induces a mythological lifestyle.

So we went along with life. Day to day, we went to work, ate some food, pet some cats. And every day, the baby thistle grew...


and grew...



AND grew....................





Until, it became apparent that the baby thistle would one day consume us all, unless we did something, and quick. I once again have no pictures of what I will call the 'Fear' stage.

The Fear stage was the stage during which the giant thistle wielded it's powers over us. I would gaze at it for hours out the kitchen window, hypnotized by it's evil demonstration of infinite fractal growth patters. Occasionally, I would shake off the spell and pester Hau as to why we have not yet vanquished this foe. He would laugh and say how truly amazing a specimen this plant was. How could we destroy such a splendor of nature? Although he was right, sleep became less easy. Front yard time was spent, more and more, looking over the shoulder while toiling away in the shadow of the giant. The thistle was pitting our philosophical commitment to native species against our straight up respect for something so bold as to grow taller than us. In the chaos of this stage, I failed, once more, to photographically capture this event. The thistle eminated a mind-controlling force-field that rendered both logical capacity and recording devices useless.

Then, one early morning, one of our housemates was outside. A neighbor came by and asked if Hau was home. When she said no, the neighbor asked if she would make sure to pass on the message that we were growing a noxious weed. A noxious weed!

A few more days passed. We gazed upon the splendor of the giant. I imagined a forest of these, taking over our front yard, seeds afloat on the wind, spreading, spreading, blocking out the sun.

And finally, one day, Hau took the shovel and speared off it's poor giant life.

Note the leather gloves to protect Hau's hands during the heat of battle.

We marvel at the hugeness of our worthy foe.

Now that the Fear stage has passed, we can fall back on the more academic aspects of having had the giant in our lives. Our research in the ever useful book, Weeds of the West, leads us to believe this was a Scotch Thistle, Onopordum acanthium. One of the alternate common names for this plant is 'heraldic thistle.' I can only assume this name is derived from the fact that the presence of this plant in your yard will herald in the dawn of a new era - one ruled by super-large thistles.

Weeds of the West states this plant can grow "up to 12 feet tall" and "is an aggressive plant [that] may form stands so dense that they are impenetrable to livestock." Yikes! And let me tell you, livestock is known to penetrate quite a lot. I've seen cow patties in some unlikely places.

Also of interest is the fact that the thistle is the national emblem of my ancestors' (I think) home country, Scotland.

According to a Scottish History Website, "The prickly purple thistle was adopted as the Emblem of Scotland during the rein of Alexander III (1249 -1286). Legend has it that an Army of King Haakon of Norway, intent on conquering the Scots landed at the Coast of Largs at night to surprise the sleeping Scottish Clansmen. In order to move more stealthily under the cover of darkness the Norsemen removed their footwear.

As they drew near to the Scots it wasn't the only thing hiding under the cover of darkness. For one of Haakon's men unfortunately stood on one of these spiny little defenders and shrieked out in pain, alerting the Clansmen of the advancing Norsemen. Needless to say the Scots who won the day."

So, apparently, this is not the only time this massive plant has altered the course of history. Perhaps, the reason we were graced with a visit from this stately plant was that she and I hail from the same land. It could even be that I have her ancestor to thank for the fact that I exist! When we go to Scotland later this year, I will keep my eye out for the giant's brethren in their native environment and pay homage.

In conclusion, I am left feeling conflicted about destroying a compatriot that could have made our yard impenetrable to livestock.

Now, only one question remains: where is the mother-plant?