No bur is a friendly bur, but we have a variety of bur (or burr, depending on your taste for repeated consonants) here in central Texas that are colloquially referred to as "goatheads" and are basically armor-piercing plant husks that want to hurt you more than anything else. They puncture bicycle tires and feel like stepping on long, sharp tacks, designed as though they wished to nourish the nascent embryo with drops of fresh blood.

They were my introduction to the idea that a wild lawn like ours (seeded decades ago and only half-heartedly maintained) could not be walked in barefoot for several months out of the year.


The plant goatheads come from, Tribulus terrestris, is an Old World plant that is naturalized to the Americas, and also goes by the name goathead as well as puncture vine, yellow vine, and caltrop. It likes warmth and low moisture, and once it makes it's mark it is hard to get rid of because the seed is viable for 3-7 years.

Oddly, there is a person who is prepared to offer these seeds in trade. Maybe you could send the person a vial of skunk scent in exchange for them.

That said, they are lovely little pieces of natural weaponry, and in fact they have been weaponized: In southern Africa, goatheads have been smeared with the poisonous juices of another plant and scattered where a victim is expected to walk.

From the Onion opinion desk this week comes a column by Bur #318 entitled "I Have Completed Stage One Of Our Plan To Take Over The World." An excerpt:

Stage One, Sequence B: I have successfully attached myself to the host sock. As planned, the 100 percent cotton sock proved suitable for my naturally adhesive hooks. In this regard, our calculations were beyond sound - they were flawless. Prior concerns that wind resistance might prematurely dislodge me from the sock were entirely unfounded. The denim pant leg adjacent to the host sock acted as a protective barrier, holding me firmly in place for the duration of the journey.

Stage One, Sequence C: By my best estimate, I have successfully traveled 3.45 miles from Parent Organism Beta 51.2-6. I now sit at a prime vantage point from which to colonize the surrounding hills and meadows. Contact with foreign soil forthcoming.

If goatheads wrote a column, the text would read something like "Kill! Kill!"

I dislike lawn care, but I also dislike having a lawn covered in flesh penetrating devices.

We have never gone the route of pre-emergent pesticides with our lawn in the several years we've lived in our home - in part because we avoid toxic chemicals where we can and haven't done the research to figure out what's the least harmful effective option, and in part because we like the idea of a lawn "ecosystem" instead of a monoculture, which makes sense to us even more because we live in the country on two acres, which means a range of biomes beyond the basic "lawn" area. We like the idea of xeriscaping, but even this would be done in stages - two acres is a lot of space - and we may like to have some small patch of lawn when we're done, especially if it is not one that attacks us for several months out of the year.

Anyone have some simple suggestions for helping our lawn fend off these pointy invaders?

Top image by Karate Putter, shared via Flickr.

Last year we tried a new spot for our Christmas tree and nestled it in the corner between two windows. After a few weeks the retired couple across the street commented, "We noticed you don't have a tree up this year." That's when we discovered that since they don't put up a tree, they've enjoyed ours vicariously the last several years when it was situated in front of the window. This year we put it back where it had been. It's fair and square, I thought, since I've admired the trees in their front yard each year when the snow falls, making them "picture perfect."

The Christmas cleanup is a good time to think about how we "do" Christmas and whether there's anything we'd like to do differently next year. Here are a few topics that I've been mulling over related to Christmas trees.

Real vs. artificial: My sense is that people fall into two distinct camps, the purists and the pragmatists. The purists insist on real trees for the smell, organic vs. synthetic, and the annual tradition of "choosing" the perfect tree. Pragmatists will extol the virtues of easy set-up, less mess, and cost savings over time. A colleague once told me that she'd finally questioned why she kept putting the ornaments on and taking them off her small artificial tree every year. In an "a-ha moment" she had discovered she could store the entire decorated tree in her closet and just pull it out every season, saving herself a lot of trouble. Personally, the experience of finding a tree, setting it up, going through ornaments, and even watering it, is an integral part of the season.

Industry and Reduce, Reuse, Recycle: The Christmas tree industry is important for both the U.S., Canada and China. The National Christmas Tree Association provides interesting statistics about the trends in tree-buying, the number of tree farms in the U.S. and how many people are employed in the industry. However, their own data doesn't support at least one of their statements, that "Christmas trees are grown in all 50 states and Canada." Their charts show Alaska at the bottom ranking, having no Christmas tree farms or trees harvested (in 2002 data).
While I can understand the economic importance of this Christmas tradition, I am also sensitive to how much of a carbon footprint it makes. What if the trees were just planted and left to flourish? Does it seem senseless to cut them down only to ship them all over the place so we can put them up for a few weeks and then dispose of them? Are there pesticides or other chemicals used to produce the 25-30 million real trees sold each year? What about the metals and potential toxins used in the making of artificial trees in China and how it affects factory workers and their environment, not to mention off-gassing in your own home?

Sharing: After my neighbors mentioned our tree last year, I wondered how much of the Christmas tree tradition is about sharing. After all, it's more fun to choose a tree when you have someone else's opinion. And decorating a tree with others, especially children, infuses the house with Christmas spirit. As I drive down the street, I notice how many people choose to put their trees in a window, thereby sharing the beauty of nature and colorful lights with all passersby.

Alternatives: While my neighbors and my family enjoy our tree this year, I will be thinking about alternatives for next year. More homemade ornaments, a potted live tree, or even finding out about organic trees. While there is much about this season that can seem wasteful, I see simplifying traditions as beneficial and more meaningful overall. It may not work for everyone (I try to imagine my colleague stringing cranberries and popcorn for example), but it's a start.

Taking out your "real" Christmas tree or put an artificial one back in storage is an opportune time to think about your family's traditions and how they relate to your values and priorities. Do you have a tradition that you simply cannot let go? Would you like to switch from one option to another, or have ways you make your holiday routines greener or more memorable for your family?

Tomorrow's the winter solstice, which we'll be celebrating with a special meal, children's books about the solstice, and music. Here's a post from the ZRecs Archives about how we like to celebrate the "return of the light" with our daughter - an occasion that holds a special place for gardeners, but is a celebration of life and the seasons that everyone can relate to.

Thursday night was the winter solstice, an event that is surprisingly easy for a two-year-old to wrap her head around. We had our first annual Winter Solstice Celebration that night and Z had a blast. We explained to her that yesterday was the longest night of the year and that by celebrating, we were asking the sun to please start coming back and making our days longer and warmer.

Jeremiah had a chocolate cake in the oven when Z and I got home, and the two of them made yellow butter creme icing and then decorated the cake with the icing and construction paper triangles around the edges and a last-minute construction-paper smiley face. Next year, I'll push for cupcakes which can be easily frozen and enjoyed later - a three-person family just can't eat that much cake!

For dinner we made a vegan pumpkin soup, got out our best sun-themed dishes, and had ourselves a party. Here's the recipe:

Solstice Pumpkin Soup

• 4 cups veggie stock


• One can of 100% pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling)


• Garlic and onion


• Olive oil


• One can of coconut milk


• Seasonings

Saute onion and garlic in a little olive oil until translucent, then blend with a little broth until smooth. Combine broth and pumpkin puree and warm over medium heat. Add the blended garlic and onion. Season with a little basil, oregano, thyme, and a dash each of paprika and cayenne. If the soup is too thin, add cornstarch to thicken. Add the can of coconut milk and heat on low until warm.


You might have seen this coming from the pic at top...

The bowls, which have sunflowers on them, surprised us by creating a sun of their own once we'd eaten a bit of soup and the yellow pointed tips of the sunflower petals appeared!

We had also planned to make pine cone feeders but ran out of time. We'll make those sometime next week.

We also played "Here Comes The Sun" and "Good Day Sunshine" by the Beatles. Z wanted to make a toast so we toasted to the return of the sun.

Do you like to do anything to commemorate the winter solstice with your family? Share it in the comments!