Weed-wackers and Hydrangeas

I was asleep on the chair when I heard it- the sound of a weed-whacker starting. My subconscious prompted- "Hydrangeas." I told it, "He wouldn't cut down the hydrangeas, they are blooming." Then, into my mind floated the picture of the field of violets they cut down; then the brussel sprouts chopped in the garden. I am now sitting in the basement saying to myself, "Please don't cut down my hydrangeas, please don't cut down my hydrangeas." I have sent Sarah outside to mosey around and pet the cat and KEEP AN EYE ON THAT IDIOT WITH THE RATHER-IMPORTANT-PLANT-WHACKER.
She has reported that apparently 1 1/2 foot plants with blooms the size of baseballs were obvious enough to survive the weed-scourge. He whacked right around them, getting close enough to make them wave, but did not actually hurt them.
You might ask, why I didn't go and watch him instead of sending Sarah. The answer? I couldn't. Not watch him trim around my precious, young, beautiful hydrangeas.
He has gone now, off to terrorize someone else.... but he has been replaced by the mower. Ah me!