Ragwort. I hate it.
My Nemesis. A source of harm or ruin. Too effing right.
Loathsome, dangerous stuff to horses (and sheep).
I have been battling it unsuccessfully over the years – many, many years especially in my lovely self-contained croft, Clothie. This croft once had no ragwort at all, not even a hint, until I stupidly had ditches dug to drain the soil better and with that the ragwort seeds that had been lying dormant for years, centuries even, appeared.
As it is still wet on the ground (and above actually), I went over to Clothie with the dogs in the pretence it was a dog walk, and picked a binbagful.
In previous years, I have tried spraying using different specific ragwort pesticides with no visual results except leaving me thinking at times I was only watering it. So this year I am picking it out, roots and all and then it will be burned.
I took my good camera and macro lens to make the resulting back ache worth my while.
Clothie has a spectacular array of wild flowers and it is a very peaceful place.
I realised my dog walk was not a success when I found Loki having a bit of a rest.
BeAnne was busy doing her own thing, though.
And so we went home to our welcome committee who were previously engaged. I am going to try and pull up a bag of ragwort every day, if I can. I shall add it to my daily to-do list.