I have adopted a little Weedlet a year ago and he has been
complaining to me about his current residence since :) So I have
decided to find him new locum and moved him yesterday.
His new apartment is located off of West Farms Road, Howell
NJ.
Please proceed with care - he gets easily spooked.
The Mythology: If the Ents are the shepherds of the forest, then
the Weedlins are the shepherds of meadows & wildflowers.
They're part of the landscape of nature itself. Like weeds they're
plucky, mischievous & protective of their lands. The ancient
Greeks called them the Lemoniads. The Native Americans left them
offerings. Colonial Farmers gave them their modern name but revered
them for renewing the fields & protecting the land from
erosion. Now a days they're hard to come by but I've discovered at
least one living in Tatum Park. I hid a cache nearby which, if the
Weedlin hasn't eaten it yet again, shouldn't be too hard to
find.
The Legend: In the Summer of 1779 the land of Tatum Park was a
small farm owned by a family that was struggling to just keep the
farm running. To make matters worse, British soldiers were
occupying their land. Young Emily had a magnificent garden of
native flowers, but the wildflowers that grew in the meadows were
her favorite. Emily watched with irritation as the troops made camp
in a field that was being allowed to grow natural that season. They
crushed down her beloved wildflowers & greedily ate the berries
she had been cultivating all Spring. One of the soldiers took
notice & saved a large bouquet of flowers, which he presented
to her one morning. Despite their differences, the two fell in
love. Though she never tried to change his mind, her love of the
land was infectious & soon after being deployed into battle the
young soldier defected to the Colonial Army. He promised to marry
her when he returned. He wrote to Emily frequently over the next
year but one day the letters stopped coming. The years piled up,
the war ended & she lost hope & began to despair. She was
inconsolable. As Emily's health began to fail so did the farm.
Crops withered, fruits dried on the vine & not a flower could
be seen on the property. On the occasion of the first frost in 1783
Emily took a walk in the North East meadow, sat down to rest under
a willow tree & never woke up. She was buried in that same
meadow. On Christmas Eve of that season her lover finally returned.
He had been captured by the British & sent over seas as a
prisoner of war. The revolution ended before he could stand trial
& eventually he was able to make his way back to the colonies.
Her soldier was saddened when he heard the news of her death but
war had hardened him & he could shed no tears. Emily's mother
led him to the gravesite. As he knelt by Emily's final resting
place, her Mother placed a bundle of dried flowers alongside the
headstone. The soldier recognized the flowers as the very bouquet
he gave her when they first met. His heart finally broke & he
began to weep. On the first day of Spring life returned to the farm
when a lone Morning Glory bloom unfolded to greet the dawn. It had
sprouted alongside Emily's grave where her love's tears fell to
earth.