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Featured Plant
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Back to getting water. What about the cholla? The red
and white cow was eating the fruit of the buckhorn cholla.
If a cow could eat it, she could eat it. If it didn't kill
the cow,
why should it kill her? Truth was, she'd eat the iridescent
beetle calmly crossing the road if she thought there was a
chance it had water inside it.
Right there she knew how thirsty she was. Any other
time she wouldn't touch something in her own refrigerator
if it was more than two days old. Or offered by someone she
didn't know. Or looked funny. Or smelled funny. Face it,
Moll—as Peter always says—you're a world class weenie.
The fruit came off the cholla cactus with ease. No
problem there, except for the thousand and one sneaky
spines so tiny they were all but invisible. In seconds, they
were all over her hands, between every finger. Maddening.
Especially her left hand which was not doing so well in the
sun. But who had gloves? And who'd try and slip a glove
over an abraded non-disinfected hand?
— Walks Away Woman, Ki Longfellow, page 26
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