A week or so ago I said on Twitter that in my garden it looks like the flowers all got drunk, trashed the place, and now they have a hangover.  I was not exaggerating--the garden was so overgrown that I could hardly get down any of the paths, and the flowers had all grown so tall and crazy, then flopped over with exhaustion, that it really did seem like they'd been on some kind of crazy binge without me and were now paying the price.

 And in fact, that's exactly what happened.  I planted a poison garden in my side yard, and it was just really getting going when Wicked Plants was published.  The New York Times got wind of that and wanted to come see it.  CBS Sunday Morning stopped by.  If you've never had major media outlets come visit your garden, let me tell you:  it's just the tiniest bit of pressure.  I might have given the garden just a little too much fertilizer to drink.  Just a little.

 So, while I was on a book tour, the garden went wild.  I mean, it looked okay for the cameras, but it really went crazy after the reporters left.  And after I left.  I can only survey the aftermath and wonder what to do next.  I guess it'll all get chopped down and made into compost.  Meanwhile, there are still a few insane dahlia blooms to pick--and in the poison garden, the tobacco, castor bean, and opium poppies never looked better.