It is not that I do not like yellow flowers. One of my favourite beauty spots when I drive to work is a lovely green mound with densely planted yellow flowers in the middle. The contrast is most pleasing to the eye.
My dislike of yellow close to me may be rooted in the traumatic experience I had as a young gal. That summer I often wore my favourite bright yellow dress. After a few days I noticed that I displayed an unusually large number of tiny insects on my person. Several more days passed before I connected the insects with the dress. As soon as I realised that they were attracted to its yellow colour, I consigned my dress to the Wardrobe and wore it no more. (Ah, the dramas of my youth! I wonder no one made a movie about them yet.)
Well, yellow of r any other colour, the more I looked at my two daisy bushes the less happy I was with them. They stick out like sore thumbs. I imagined the small whitish –pinkish low growing and spreading bushed in their place, and the latter seem perfect for the position.
I leafed through my old gardening magazines anew and – there it was. The plant I was looking for all the time is not a daisy at all, although it has daisy-like flowers, or rather camomile-like flowers (there it is again – my ever-present love affair with camomiles). The plant I really wanted is called Erigeron karvinskianus. It turned out that I had copied the wrong Latin name.
That’s it. I am off to the nursery. The yellow daisies can go into a pot.
Ah, the regrets and second thought of gardening!
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