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January 12, 2010

Here lies Nancy Nettle.

ashes to ashes

Formerly Miss Nancy Nettle of the garden of North Kings road, now Miss Nancy Nettle of the rubbish bins.

Born, March 2008, in Ontario, Canada, Nancy Nettle was daughter of Bill Nettle and Harriet Nettle. After a quite idyllic childhood at Richter’s nursery, she was sent to what would become her last home in the late spring, and planted under the fig tree almost immediately.

She flourished under the fig tree, growing into a beautiful, big and strong plant. Her days were spent doing things that she loved to do (which means that she had quite a lovely life if you ask me):
tickling squirrels;

hanging out with the borage and the comfrey and the chard and the wild lettuce (which somebody (I don’t know whooo) now regrets planting because she doens’t use it and it’s now everywhere);

hanging out with Rebecca early in the morning when Rebecca could sit and talk to plants without anybody else being awake to hear it;

metamorphosing into soup and tea and tincture (is there no limit to the magical ability of the nettle plant?);

and stinging people who didn’t like her… which made Rebecca quite happy to watch– especially when it was the silly handyman who traipsed mud through the entire house AND DOWN THE LENGTH OF REBECCA’S YOGA MAT, and also when it was the woman who would turn out to be her murderer.

Ironic, it seems, that just by doing what nettles are known to do, Nancy may have sewn the seeds of her own undoing.

Nancy Nettle was the innocent victim of passive aggressive behaviour. After almost a year of thriving under the fig tree, she was brutally ripped out of the ground and thrown in the trash can along with the grass cuttings.

Rest in peace, Nancy Nettle– you will be sorely missed*.

Your soups warmed my stomach,
your company warmed my heart.

*In memorial of your great life, I have dug the remains of your roots through the entire patch of earth where you lived, and spread your seeds across the garden.

Nancy as a baby.

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