Lantana is technically a weed. A pretty weed, okay, but a weed. I first saw it years ago growing in the sidewalk cracks in Mississippi, and when I brought a photo of it to our local nursery, I seriously thought the owner was going to spit on me. I was oh-so-thrilled to get be on the receiving end of a 5 minute lecture on the subject.

But it was effective, apparently, because now I’m compelled to point out that Lantana’s a weed whenever the subject comes up.

Regardless, despite the fact that it grows all on its own through street cracks where it gets mashed and stepped on every day, I cannot grow the stuff. I’ve killed off any number of sacrificial lambs.

This was last year’s:

Pink and yellow together in lots of tiny tiny blooms. This one was kind of cruel- see how nice and big that sucker looks? Looks like a winner, right? A survivor?

Yeah. Not so much. The front of the house, the back, any sun/shade combo you can think of. In pots, in the ground. All of these in my hands = dead lantana. On one side I have a neighbor who has one that just started growing on its own, and she’s shaped it into a gorgeous lollipop-looking bush. On the other side I have somebody whose boyfriend keeps running their wild lantana over with the lawnmower, and it just keeps coming back.

Seriously, this is true.

So I’ve decided that I’m not taking care of it any more. I’m not being nice to it, and I’m considering backing the car over this one a few times. Maybe then it’ll live for a while. If not, at least I know where I can get more- the local speech giving nursery? It’s caved, and I’m perfectly welcome to go buy my evil weed there.